Milton's Mill Master: A Variation of North & South
by JuliaDaniels
Summary: John Thornton has not recovered well from the strike at his Marlborough Mills. He goes to London and the Great Exhibition to secure investors with the help of Mr. Bell. Margaret is deeply grieving the loss of her mother. When her father declares they will move to Milton so he can run a boy's school, she is worried, but after meeting John, Milton looks far more appealing!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Milton

May 1851

"You must realize it is well passed time, John. This trip to London may be a golden opportunity for you to find a suitable partner."

"Why, Mother!" John Thornton, mill master of the great Marlborough Mills, twisted his lips into a wry grin and moved from the window to stand in front of her. He bent from his waist to look into her bright blue eyes. "Are you suggesting I find a bride in London?"

His dearest, widowed mother, Hannah Thornton, sat primly upon her usual carved walnut, throne style chair in the austere sitting room of the house at Marlborough Mills. She had done her best over the course of his entire adult life, the past few years especially, to make certain any and every respectable, eligible female in and around Milton, England was paraded in front of him for his discerning inspection. As of yet, none had tickled his fancy.

He was hardly immune to the charms of a woman's smile or laugh, but the idea of marriage was rather foreign to him. He'd spent his thirty-four years as a bachelor and managed quite well. He imagined he would get along fine for the rest of his life without a simpering female begging and whining for money and trinkets. His younger sister, Fanny, had done enough of that to make him question the logic of tying himself to a grasping woman.

Work—the mill—was his life, and to add any other responsibilities, would be foolish. No woman would want to take second place to a man's work, and any woman that joined his life would surely be forced to do that. He was content.

"You've not found a woman in Milton." She folded her hands in her lap and continued, despite his stiffening posture. "Surely if you look a bit, just open your eyes, John, you will find someone appropriate?"

She made it sound as if he walked through life with blinders on. No woman had every truly attracted him enough to bother courting. No one had drawn his attention from his mill for more than a fleeting moment. He assumed a woman he wished to take as a wife should at least maintain his attention for a substantial length of time, at least cause him to think of her occasionally throughout his day.

"Do you think if I simply snap my fingers," which he did, "an eligible woman of good breeding, fine looks and graceful demeanor will fall into my lap?"

"Certainly not your _lap_ , John," she snorted, her nose shooting up in the air, "but perhaps she may appear on your _path_.

"I see." He grinned and sat across from her. "And what leads you to believe I _want_ a wife? Surely I do not _need_ a wife. You, mother, are quite efficient in the running of my home. I have little need to socialize, and when I do, I attend functions without a companion." He shrugged.

John was quite used to being alone. In truth, it didn't concern him. He wasn't lonely, indeed he enjoyed his own company. Most of all, he found pretending to be interested in other people's thoughts and ideas often more of a strain on his patience than it was worth.

"She must be attractive, John." She pointed at him. "I do not want ugly grandchildren. She'll need to be an heiress, so she can add money to help stabilize your personal finances and of course, the mill. The strike has taken its toll on Milton and your mill. She must be malleable and compliant, too. Quiet, like you and me. I do not believe someone like Fanny would suit you well. Not a Papist, either."

"Is that your complete list or have you more to add?" He asked with raised brows, the wry grin still upon his face. "Allow me to understand, madam." He chuckled. "You suggest I should go kidnap some random girl from London and bring her here for your approval?"

She snorted again. "John you are a _handsome_ , _wealthy_ man." She stood and walked in front of him. "The strike has damaged your pride, but you must know you are well sought after here in Milton. A prize!" She rested her hands on the sides of his shoulders. "Any girl would be fortunate indeed to have you for a husband. _Kidnap_ , indeed!"

"The strike _has_ hurt business, there is no denying that," he agreed. _But a marriage just to save the business?_

"Along with your hunt for investors, why not also find an heiress?" She made it sound as if it should be the easiest thing in the world.

He, along with four other mill masters, were scheduled to depart for London the following morning to drum up support for the flagging economy of Milton. John's charismatic, elderly landlord, Mr. Adam Bell, had arranged a whirlwind week-long business trip in London, to enable the mill masters to visit with possible investors, bankers and men of financial and political wherewithal. It was John's great hope that some, even one, would feel compelled to invest in his mill.

He was rather desperate. His mother had no idea the scope of his troubles. It seemed his back was pushed up against the wall, with options quickly disappearing. If he figured properly, unless he received financial backing or significant orders, he had less than six months left before the mill would crumble. His long-time banker, Jonathan Lattimer was unwilling to extend any further funds. The hundreds of men and women that relied upon employment at Marlborough Mills would be without work at that time. His own financial position was quite precarious as well. An heiress might solve his concerns, but a solid investor might be more reasonable.

His mother, always involved in the running of the mill since he became a mill master, would declare it was all the fault of the hands, that by their striking they had written their own death warrant. He did not see it quite that way. Yes, they caused the troubles, but that alone should not have been enough to close the mill. He'd become complacent, hadn't planned sufficiently for the future, and now the mill was in peril.

But, he wasn't the only one struggling. If the other mill masters, Watson, Slickson, Trunesdale and Donkin, were honest, they were struggling, too. The competition that existed between all the mills, here in Milton, to the north in Manchester, and to the west in Bolton, fueled the problems and stresses that they were now experiencing. He had the workers and the machinery for success. The only thing left was to create and expand the markets and secure investors. If he could achieve that, the mill would be safe—without an heiress wife.

After John left her to pack for his trip, with a soft kiss on her cheek, she remained in the darkened drawing room to ponder their conversation.

Her dearest, beloved John was lonely, whether he was willing to admit it or not. Hannah worried greatly what he would do if she passed on. How could he cope without a wife, a partner? She well knew how hard it was to meander throughout life without anyone to rely upon for support. And, while she was seriously ill, did not believe she would leave the world anytime soon, she knew, just knew, John needed more to his life, more than the mill… even more than her.

After her husband's death, John became the man in the house, even though he was only fourteen. Because of all he had forfeited for her and Fanny- his education, his prospects- Hannah similarly sacrificed for him. Everything she did, she did solely for his benefit, and jointly they propelled him to the most respected mill master in Milton. It may not have been what he dreamt of as a youngster, but he was successful and valued in Milton, throughout England and even the world.

She knew that if she did not expressly tell him to wed, he probably would not. She and Fanny had introduced him to attractive, connected and appropriate ladies, but he never took any interest in courting them. Hannah never pushed the idea of marriage, at least until this evening.

She hoped their conversation would be sufficient motivation to propel him to look beyond the end of his pointy, patrician nose for a woman. This coming week he would be exposed to many new faces. Perhaps one lovely one would catch his eye?

The idea of letting another woman in this house, _her house_ , and into their lives made her stomach clench. But, she knew, deep down inside, it was exactly what her taciturn son needed. He needed liveliness, some recreation and entertainment beyond what he experienced with the mill men.

He needed a young woman to love and care for him, someone to divert him from the stresses and pressures of the mill.

London

"Papa, you must eat!"

Margaret Hale shifted at the dining table, sitting closer to her dearest father, who sat before her, a mere shadow of his former vibrant self. Her mother passed away at Christmas, just a short five months earlier. Her father, a vicar, had remained behind in their beloved Helstone, a bucolic countryside town in southern England, while Margaret returned to her Aunt Shaw's home in London. Now finally reunited at Aunt Shaw's lovely Harley Street townhouse, Margaret was shocked and heartbroken at the evidence of his poor health and low spirits.

"I'm simply not hungry, my dear." He pushed his plate forward with a firm shake of his grey head.

"Dixon tells me you are not eating at home, either." She was not pleased as she hoped her firm voice displayed. The long-time family maid had shared her great concern with Margaret when they arrived the evening before. "I'll not tolerate this, Papa, not when we are finally back together again."

Suddenly, he burst into tears and allowed his face to drop into his hands. Margaret was up in a shot, holding him against her slight frame. _How horrible_! _Had he held this inside since Mama died_? She held him as he unburdened his heart, his tears wetting the bodice of her modest, grey dress. She was not certain how long it was before he was calm again and she could pull away.

"Margaret I cannot live without you anymore," he whispered. "I have been so lonely, so very lost. I had my church family, of course, but your mother…well she was _everything_ to me. Everything!" he removed his handkerchief from the pocket of his suit coat and blew his nose. "Now she is gone to heaven, and I feel so… lost." He dabbed at his eyes before replacing his cloth in the pocket.

"Papa, we still have each other." She sat next to him and took his hands in hers.

"We do," he agreed with a curt nod.

"I would have come to Helstone." She squeezed his hands. "All you needed to do was ask," she reminded him.

He sighed deeply, but finally met her eyes with his own, red rimmed, sorrowful gaze.

"I needed to mourn in my own way, Margaret." He pulled away and sat back against his chair. "You were better off here in London with your Aunt Shaw."

She found that debatable, but she allowed the comment to slide. He had wanted to be left alone to mourn, and she had honored his wish, communicating only through letters since her mother's passing. This was the first time she'd seen him since Christmas. Perhaps it had been a miscalculation on her part; she should have stayed in Helstone with him.

"Well," she smiled softly, "you are here now. Please tell me you will stay? Or allow me now to come home to Helstone and be with you?"

He shifted with a sniff and pulled out his handkerchief again from the breast pocket of his coat.

"Did I tell you, Margaret?" He perked up a bit and smiled, a watery grin.

"What, Papa?" she asked, matching his smile. She knew he was about to change the subject, but decided to allow it for now. They could revisit the conversation at a later time.

"Adam Bell is coming here tomorrow."

"Mr. Bell?" She frowned, picturing the older man in her mind. "Why, I haven't seen my godfather in years! He is visiting you here?"

"Yes, indeed." Her father nodded. "It seems he has invited some manufacturers from his hometown of Milton to visit the Great Exhibition at Hyde Park and meet with some investors of his acquaintance. He will also bring them around to meet Mrs. Shaw and Captain Lennox. Perhaps tomorrow, even."

"Manufacturers?" She frowned. "I did not realize Mr. Bell associated with men of that ilk."

Manufacturers? Mr. Bell was an educated man, an Oxford don. Why ever would he be involved with such a set of men?

"Why, certainly, my dear! He still has a multitude of investments in Milton and hopes to help these men, four or five of them, I think, achieve some financial growth. Bell has quite a wide range of connections! I don't believe the man has ever met a stranger."

She remembered Mr. Bell fondly. He was only a few years older than her father, a dear friend that would call upon them at Christmas and Easter each year. He would always bring small gifts for Margaret and her older brother Fred. Adam Bell was her father's longest and dearest friend.

"That sounds rather honorable, Papa, quite kind and considerate of him." She smiled. "I wonder how many people hold such a connection to the town of their youth?"

"Milton has always held a rather special place in his heart. He came to Helstone to see me last month." He wiped his nose again with his hankie. "He suggested this visit to London might be good for me, and you know, Margaret, I believe he was right." He thumped the table with a decisive thud.

"I've missed you, Papa. I am quite glad to have you here." She smiled, happy to simply be in his company again.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," he said. "So lovely." He reached out and caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

"Thank you, Papa."

He settled back against his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "When he visited me, Bell offered me an interesting proposal."

"Is that right?" She frowned. "What sort of proposal?"

Mr. Bell was well known for being rather dramatic, flamboyant and perhaps a bit intense. Margaret hoped whatever the wily man suggested was a legitimate scheme for her father. She would hate to have him get his hopes raised only to have them dashed.

"It seems among the vast list of properties Bell owns is a boy's school in Milton. The pupils are mostly young men from families that cannot afford to attend the fancier schools here in London, but still hope to attend University when they get older."

"Is that right?" _Amazing!_ She allowed a smile to cross her face, widening as her father's face lit up. "Why, Mr. Bell is full of all sorts of surprises!"

"Margaret," his Adam's apple bobbed, "he has invited _me_ to consider becoming the _headmaster_ of the school."

A sudden sense of concern crept in her heart at the thought he might decide to pursue the idea. He was not only considering leaving his position in the church, but also her beloved Helstone!

"In Milton." Her voice was flat.  
"Yes." He nodded. "In Milton."

She had read about the north, but had no experience there. What she knew of Milton was hardly positive. She understood it to be a dirty, sooty industrial town of the north, with textile factories and cotton mills. She also knew that many immigrants from Ireland, Scotland and Wales had begun to settle there, making it a rather diversified, somewhat dangerous, crime ridden and impoverished area.

"Papa, you would leave the church?" _Amazing!_

"I _have_ left the church, my dear."

She gasped. A hand flew to her mouth as her stomach lurched. She feared she would be ill.

"I shall no longer be a clergyman of the Church of England." His voice dropped low. "I contacted my bishop before I left Helstone and asked him to find a replacement."

 _Amazing!_ He'd been a clergyman for nigh on thirty years.

"You have resigned your position!" she cried. "Oh, but why, Papa?" She took his hands again. "Thirty years you have served the Lord. Why would you leave now?"

"Doubts, Margaret, such deep all-encompassing doubts that I cannot overlook." He shook his head and looked away from her confused gaze, over her shoulder.

She swallowed, baffled.

"Doubts about the _Lord_ or about the _Church_?" she sputtered. "This is so shocking! And what of your Bishop? What was his response?"

"Never doubts in the Lord, but the _Church_ … it has changed so much since I became a minister. I scarcely recognize the teachings any longer and I can hardly espouse what I do not believe! That would be the height of hypocrisy! The bishop tried to persuade me, of course, but to no avail. He will find a replacement post-haste, so you see, my dear." He smiled his watery smile again. "I must remove from Helstone. Be it London or Milton, but we may no longer call Helstone home."

He left the Church without any warning. He left behind her beloved Helstone without notice. What to make of these changes! She wanted to cry, yet she was so overcome with worry for her father's peace of mind, she chose instead to be strong and show solidarity with him, no matter how fantastical the situation seemed.

She needed more answers. "Were these doubts already in your mind before Mama left us?" she whispered.

"Yes." He nodded simply, resolutely.

"Oh my dear Papa, how you have suffered!" She took his hands in hers. _No longer a clergyman!_ _"_ Have you given Mr. Bell an answer? Will you go to the north? Run this boy's school?" She wanted to hear that he told Bell _no,_ that he would at least consider London for his next home.

"I have not." He shook his head. "I must learn more details about the school and the town of Milton before I decide." He squeezed her hand. "I would also like to know you would move there with me. In fact, I will not go north _unless_ youdo, too." He squeezed her hand tighter. "I believe we have spent enough time apart, my dear."

"But, can you run a boy's school?" _Milton!_ "You've never done such a thing!"

"I would like to think I could try." He smiled. "You might think I am rather old to try something new. While the proverbs might say _'an old dog may learn no new tricks_ ,' I think I might wish to try it." He shrugged. "At this time, I have nothing to lose by trying."

She swallowed, a bit scared and overwhelmed as she imagined a much different life in the north of England, unique from anything she had ever experienced before.

"When must you give him an answer?" she asked quietly.

"He would like me to begin during the fall term. August at the latest."

Three months.

"I would consider such a move only if you are confident it would bring you some pleasure. I would certainly do anything to be with you, Papa." She sighed. "Perhaps this is what we both need? A fresh start for us both?"

"A new beginning." Her father nodded vigorously, a smile slowly breaking out across his time-weathered face. "That is a fine way to look at this opportunity. A fine way."

"Well," she stood up a bit shaken, "you and I shall have to pelt Mr. Bell and these northern manufacturers with all sorts of questions about Milton and the school. I suppose we might just have to travel north for a visit, as well?" She inwardly cringed at the very idea of living in a manufacturing town, but maintained a smile, however false. "That would be perhaps the best way to determine our fitness for such an area."

"A visit? Yes, I suppose you are right, Margaret." He bobbed his head several times. "Indeed that would be the best way to know what I—well we, will be getting into."

She nodded. "Now then, I am going to go to the kitchen to make you some lemon cake. What do you say to that?"

"Lemon cake? My word it's been months…and … it _is_ my favorite. However, your aunt will not approve." He shook his head.

"But my papa will." She smiled again and rested her hand on his stooped shoulder before kissing his head. "Go in the drawing room and I shall bring it to you later with tea."

"As you wish." He patted her hand and then stood up.

Margaret kissed his cheek again and meandered from the dining room to the back of the house where the kitchen was situated. She hoped the cook would keep her secret, because her aunt _would_ be miffed she learned Margaret was baking. Her father needed something to pick up his spirits and she knew of little, other than this favorite cake of his, to perk him up.

As she assembled the necessary ingredients with the help of the family cook, she pondered the inevitable move to the north. If her father suggested it to her, then he had to be rather settled in his decision. He left the church! Never in a hundred years would she have guessed he would leave the church, and he'd had a month to ponder the headmaster position already, had surely considered the benefits and the drawbacks. She couldn't imagine her Papa being anything other than a clergyman, but if he wanted to try it, she would support his decision.

In truth, she expected to remain in London for the rest of her life. Her newly married cousin, Edith was forever introducing her to eligible bachelors of her acquaintance. Henry Lennox, Edith's husband's older brother was a frequent visitor to the home on Harley Street. If Edith had her way, Henry and Margaret would be married by the year's end, despite Margaret's lack of interest and non-existent attraction to the man.

Margaret put the cake in the oven and sat at the table to drink a cup of tea, and ponder her future. She couldn't imagine her gentle, quiet father running a school for boys. And what about her, what could Margaret possibly do in such a city? Would she simply run their home and fill her days with needlework and drawing? Seemed rather dull after living in London, but she would do what she had to do, to make her father happy. She owed him her best effort.

So many questions! So much uncertainty! She knew one thing that might enable her to settle in the bleak northern country. Milton would present no remembrances for her father of their time in Helstone. He could have no memories of her mother in the discordant, bustling atmosphere of Milton. That might offer him peace of mind, peace of spirit.

She hoped Mr. Bell was up for interrogation in the days to come, because the questions flowing through her mind seemed endless.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Margaret was alone, stitching on an intricately detailed sampler when Mr. Bell arrived soon after her hearty breakfast the following day. Her dear father was still abed, having stayed up with her quite late, explaining in greater detail his deep concerns and heartfelt opinion regarding the unsatisfactory direction the church was going. Once he was through with his explicit reasoning, and thoroughly exhausted, Margaret was able to fully accept his concerns, support his decision, and in turn, consider a move with him to the north.

She grinned to herself, remembering how his eyes had sparkled with excitement as he'd discussed the potential opportunities at the boy's school in Milton. He had plans already of what he could add to their curriculum, how he might teach his love of the classics—Plato, Aristotle to name but a few. She had seen an enthusiasm within his very being she hadn't for many, many years. She would be willing to try whatever he wished, just as long as he remained happy.

After a maid's curt announcement of his arrival, Mr. Bell swept into the drawing room at Harley Street, interrupting her musings.

"Margaret, my dear, look how you have grown!" Mr. Bell, wearing his usual broad smile, was in fine form, dressed well in a handsome suit. He took her hands when she joined him, and critically studied her.

"It's inevitable, is it not?" she teased, with a smile, and walked into his warm embrace.

"How good it is to see you again." He hugged her and allowed her to step slightly away and then continued to examine her with a close eye. "Lovely, my dear. You are simply lovely."

She blushed and stepped further away from the elderly man's prying eyes, back to her chair.

"Please, do have a seat," she offered. "Have you taken your breakfast yet?"

"Yes!" He sat across from her, his hat resting on the seat next to him. "Men my age need little sleep. I am often awake with the dawn, something quite foreign to these London people." He grinned, showing a perfect row of pearly-white teeth. "I thought to come early and prepare you and Mrs. Shaw for the visitors this evening. I suppose she is not awake yet?"

"Oh! On the contrary, we just finished eating." Margaret smiled. "I imagine Hilda has gone to fetch her for this visit."

"Very good!" He rubbed his hands together as if to ward off an unpleasant chill. "Did your father tell you I have recently been to Helstone?"  
"He did, indeed." She nodded. "He also told me about your offer for employment. I must say I'm not certain how he would fare as a headmaster, but he seems rather enthusiastic to give it a try."

"Richard always was an adventurer. I never expected he would take holy orders. I was rather surprised when he did." He paused. "But, to support your mother, I suppose he did what he had to. Ah, Mrs. Shaw!" Mr. Bell popped off his chair as if stuck with a hot coal. "So pleasant to see you, madam." He stepped forward and gallantly bowed before kissing her hand.

"Mr. Bell." She inclined her head and accepted his friendly gesture. "I was not expecting you until later this evening, sir."

"Yes, well as I was telling Margaret, I wished to prepare you for the guests you are to receive this evening."

"Indeed? Have we need for concern?" She frowned before taking her usual spot near the embroidered fireplace screen.

"Not at all." He returned to his seat and elegantly crossed his legs.

Everything about the gentleman was quite charming. He was dressed in the finest of suits, and his hair was recently trimmed. His shoes shined in the sunlight from the window, and his manners were quite impeccable. Margaret often wondered why he never wed. She thought perhaps he was too particular to settle on a wife.

"Yet, you have come to warn us?" she teased with a tiny grin.

"Perhaps I have given you a false impression?" He chuckled. "I simply wish to give you some information so you are better prepared to entertain the gentlemen this evening."

"Yes, of course. I shall thank you for the advanced knowledge," Aunt Shaw said. "I have been rather looking forward to this week of entertainment since you suggested it last time you were in London. And with the Exhibition, the whole town has been aflutter with excitement!"

"Was my visit two months ago, already? Lord, how time does get away from a person."

Margaret had missed his visit. She had gone with a friend from one of her art classes to the coastal town of Weymouth for a holiday with her friend's family. It had been a delightful get-away, especially as she was still in mourning for her mother. Aunt Shaw had worried about Margaret's low spirits and felt it was an appropriate and acceptable diversion.

"You know Lord Horsfall, of course, Mrs. Shaw," Mr. Bell began his explanation without delay. "I do believe his wife will attend with him. Last I spoke with them, they were equally excited to meet the men from the north and partake in the week of merriment I have planned." He grinned, clearly proud of himself for arranging such a situation.

"I so enjoy time with Lady Horsfall," Margaret gushed. "She is such a fine lady. I enjoy hearing her talk of her time in Scotland. She has such a lovely accent."

Lady Horsfall was a woman of her Aunt Shaw's age, a Scot by heritage, she and Horsfall had a love match that was well known in all the highest circles of London. She had been a commoner when he fell madly in love with her and swept her away for a quick wedding at Gretna Green. Nearly forty years and eight children later, they were still quite happy and well situated with each other.

"I'm not certain the men from the north will come with their wives or not. Four of them, Mr. Watson, Mr. Thornton, Mr. Trunesdale and Mr. Slickson are masters of the largest, most productive mills in Milton. Mr. Donkin, who will surely bring his wife, owns one of the banks there and some housing properties in and near Milton proper."  
"Father said they are coming to find investors for their mills," Margaret added.

"Yes." A lock of Mr. Bell's gray hair slipped across his forehead as he nodded. "Six months past, they just suffered through the worst of strikes, my dear Margaret. The worst _I_ have surely ever seen. No one was left unscathed. The economy of that area relies so heavily upon the mills and trade, that when such strikes occur it hurts everyone. Coming to London, with the Great Exhibition underway, they hope to excite interest in their endeavors."

"And do you invest in their mills, Mr. Bell?" Mrs. Shaw asked.

"For one mill, the largest, most prestigious of the lot, I own the building in which the mill is housed. I also have a partnership with Donkin's bank and a small interest in one of the other mills. So, you see, it was very much in my best interest to introduce the men of the north to possible investors from the south."  
Margaret allowed that information to sink into her head. Bell was far wealthier than perhaps even her father understood.

"Aunt Shaw, Mr. Bell has offered my father a position at a boy's school in Milton," she suddenly blurted out.

She never knew how to approach such delicate topics with her aunt. She had tried often to simply ease into difficult subjects, but found that often failed, resulting in an ugly confrontation. The direct approach always seemed the best when faced with imparting information tough for the older woman to accept.

As expected, Aunt Shaw frowned and sputtered, and odd noise with her mouth that clearly illustrated how disgusted she was with the idea. During the decade in which Margaret had lived part-time at the Harley Street house, Margaret had seen such a face many times, knew it portended nothing but trouble.

"A boy's school?" Her pinched, nasally voice rasped loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "In Milton? Why that is simply absurd! Margaret you and your father will stay in London." She nodded firmly as if it was her decision and hers alone. "Surely if he wishes to teach at a school, there will be an appropriate opening for him _here_. Or what of your Oxford, Mr. Bell? Milton, indeed!"

Mr. Bell unaccustomed to the elder lady's outbursts simply glanced under his lashes toward Margaret, hoping, no doubt, she would be able to salvage the tenuous conversation.

"Yes, Aunt. We are considering removal to Milton. That is why, I imagine," she shrugged and glanced at Mr. Bell, "Mr. Bell has invited gentlemen from that vicinity so Papa and I might become better acquainted with what that northern city has to offer."

"Dirt and smoke and grime and criminals! _That_ is what that town has to offer. Oh your poor mother must be upset in her grave! Surely you cannot be serious in your consideration of this plan, Margaret?"

"I am, Aunt!" She stated with a distinct firmness Margaret often lacked with her aunt. "I wish Papa to be happy and I believe undertaking such an endeavor may bring him some measure of joy. Mama may not have enjoyed Milton, but I know in my heart she would want Papa to be happy."

"And make no mistake, my dear," Aunt Shaw continued her tirade, wagging a finger at her. "These northern men are _not_ gentlemen. They are _tradesman_." She sneered the last word as if it were a disease.

"Did you know, Aunt? Mother wished me to marry a carriage maker," Margaret said with a humorless grin. "Did she ever speak to you of the Gormans, I wonder?"

Aunt Shaw's eyes widened the size of saucers and suddenly she huffed out a sound of distain. "Oh for pity's sake!" She stumbled upon standing, and created quite a theatrical exit as she fled the room.

Mr. Bell laughed. "Well played, Margaret! Well played. A carriage maker? Truly?"

"Yes." Margaret nodded vigorously holding onto her laughter. "The Gormans were quite well respected in the neighborhood."

"Yet, here you remain unengaged." The shrewd man's eyes narrowed.

"Yes." She nodded again. "Two years have passed since mother suggested I befriend the man. However, at that time, having just been here at Harley Street, with an aunt such as mine, I could not see myself tied to a man in trade."

"And now?" Mr. Bell studied her.

"Now," Margaret sighed, "Aunt Shaw and Edith wish me to wed an attorney. The brother of Edith's husband."

He chuckled. "That is _their_ wish, but what is yours?"

A sigh escaped her lips. "Oh Mr. Bell, I wish to find a man to _love_. Whether a tradesman or a prince. Ugly or handsome, it matters not. I simply wish to have a love like my parents and the Horsfalls. I wish… oh how I wish to find a man to cherish me and love me, no matter how he earns his wage."

He chuckled, but not unkindly. "That sounds quite idealistic, Margaret, but hardly impossible. I suggest, my dear, you keep an open mind and over the course of the next few days and weeks you may well receive your fondest wish." He winked at her and shifted slightly away as a maid walked in the room carrying the tea service.

The heavily soiled, hired gig pulled to a jerky halt in front of the hotel at the corner of Charles and Queen Streets in the fancy part of London known as Mayfair. John quickly alighted from the disgusting carriage just as a deluge of rain unexpectantly broke from the sky. He raced under the awning of the building and waited impatiently for the unkempt driver to remove John's travelling case from the back. Were John not running nearly six hours late, he would have waited for a better choice of transport. As it was, he was exhausted and desperate to meet the other mill men at their designated hotel. After handing the driver his expected fee, John made his way to the front of the ornately detailed, brick historic building, pleased when a doorman immediately opened the wooden front door.

He stepped through the door, immediately impressed by the magnificence of his surroundings. Dark, rich fabrics hung at the windows. Overly detailed patterned wallpapers and hand-painted murals depicting Queen Victoria decorated the walls. The furniture, of obviously fine quality and taste, was organized throughout the spacious lobby, offering a spot for a well-earned, short respite. He had been to London many times on business, but had never stayed in such a fine establishment.

As he neared the front desk to receive his room assignment, he heard his name called from just left of the lobby.

The mill men and Theodore Donkin, one of the bankers from Milton, were standing just inside the bustling dining room, a pint of beer in each of their hands. John set down his case near the desk and went to see why Slickson was waving for him to join them.

"It's about time you made it!" Watson, the eldest of the group thumped John on his back as he joined the circle of men. "Did you oversleep this morning to miss the train?"

John snorted. He never overslept. His body was so finely tuned he woke at nearly the same minute each day, even on Sundays when he did not need to be at the mill.

"I stopped at the mill prior to leaving for the station and not one, not two, but three," he lifted fingers to accentuate his point, "of the carding machines were jammed." He shook his head and ordered a pint.

"Well, we are just glad you are here. You know Bell far better than any of us," Slickson said. "We were worried about keeping the old gent entertained in your absence." Slickson raised his glass in salute when John was handed his glass of beer. "Must have begun to rain, eh?"

"Just," John nodded, realizing small droplets of water had begun to drip off his black hair. He took a long drink, thinking he might well need something stronger before the end of this long day.

"We have other bad news," Watson said before downing the rest of his glass. "It seems we were shorted a room for the evening."

John bit back a curse, and instead drank more beer.

"I suppose that would be _my_ room that was shorted?" John's eyebrows raised.

"Well now, Thornton." Slickson cleared his throat. "We were not even certain you would arrive tonight, so yes, you are without a room."

"No worries," Watson spoke up. "You can prepare for our evening festivities in my room and if they cannot locate a room, we'll simply double up." He shrugged as if sharing his bed would be of no consequence.

 _Share a room with Watson?_ John swallowed back a gag with beer. It could be worse, and indeed it was a just ending to the hell of a day he had just lived through.

"We have but thirty minutes before the hired carriage arrives for us." Watson thumped his back again. "You best head upstairs and clean yourself up. It is a formal dinner at the home of a Mrs. Anna Shaw. Lord Horsfall and his wife will be there also. We are to attend the theater following."

Theater? _Ugh_! "Very well." John had packed his finest garments, knowing he needed to sell himself as much as the mill to any new, interested investors.

"Come," Watson suggested. "I shall show you to the room and perhaps we might check at the desk to see if anyone has cancelled for the evening."

"Yes, let's." John finished his beer quickly and set the empty glass on the bar top. He nodded to the other men of his group and followed Watson from the dining room.

The clerk still was not able to accommodate John with a room, but suggested he check once again when they returned later that evening. Case in hand, he followed Watson up the wide staircase to the second floor of the building, and down a dark, narrow hallway.

Watson quickly unlocked room twenty-two and gestured for John to precede him inside. Because the ground floor was so well appointed, John had expected equal care to be given to these guest rooms. Unfortunately, the room where he and Watson stood was terribly outdated and worn.

With a sigh, John set his case on the bench at the foot of the bed and opened it, pleased the maid had packed in such a way that wrinkles in his dark suit were few and rather unnoticeable. He had a valet at home, but when travelling, he never utilized a man. That was an extra expense that the frugal John Thornton could not abide.

"Thornton, I wonder if I might talk to you about something." Nervously, Watson paced the room a few times before choosing to sit near the fireplace on the only chair in the room.

"Yes, of course." John answered, his attention far more focused on his clothing than Watson's blathering.

"I wish to discuss your sister." Watson stood again and stalked with agitation from one side of the small guest room to the other.

"Fanny?" That got John's attention. How odd. What would the old goat want with her?

While John changed from his travel gear to his finest evening attire, Watson continued speaking, listing what he saw as Fanny's finest attributes. As John added each piece to complete his clothing ensemble, Watson added more favorable comments regarding Fanny. By the time John's cravat was evenly tied, and his hair slicked back and dry from the earlier rain shower, Watson was finally able to get to the heart of the matter.

"And so, you see, I believe she would welcome my attentions and I would like your permission to seek an official courtship with her as soon as we return from London." The steady gaze from Watson's beady eyes made John prickly. He appeared far too intense, but perhaps it was just his nerves?

"What of the current state of the Milton economy? Are you not nervous and concerned that perhaps now is not the best time to take a wife?" John had used that very argument in his own mind after the conversation with his mother the night before.

"As to that… I know of a speculation-"

"A speculation!" John interrupted with a bark. "You wish to add more uncertainty to your financial position?"

"It's virtually a sure thing, Thornton," Watson said pointing at him. "You should consider participating. It would firm up your position at the mill. We all could use some additional capital, is that no why you have come to London?"

"No, thank you. I'll not participate in such a scheme." John stated in his usual no-nonsense voice. Speculations were not something he would ever consider. Not since his father's demise.

John took a final glance in the mirror, made certain he carried his pocketbook and father's watch and then turned to Watson. "Shall we rejoin the others? The carriage will surely be here soon."

"Yes, of course." Watson nodded curtly and opened the door. He stopped John, with a touch on his shoulder before he made it into the hallway. "Thornton, before we join the others, I must have an answer regarding Fanny. Do I have your permission to ask her for a courtship?"

"I suppose there would be no harm in asking her, Watson." John sighed. _Watson for a brother_? She had never, even mentioned the man's name to John. As far as John knew she preferred the young, pretty boy fops that seemed to flower her with attention wherever they went. "If she is as interested as you believe, she will give you the answer you desire."

He grabbed John's hand and forcefully shook it. "I thank you, Thornton. You will not regret it!"

"It is her choice, Watson." John began walking down the hallway, back toward the foyer. "If she wishes to align with you for the remainder of her life, I shall support it," John said over his shoulder. "Please do notify me before you offer her your name. I should like to prepare my mother. I imagine the marriage of her only daughter will be rather jarring." He reached the base of the stairs and adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, under his formal coat. Maybe if Fanny wed, his mother would no longer badger him to do the same.

"Yes, of course," Watson said quietly.

Was he having second thoughts? _Watson for a brother_!

John and Watson joined their group who were now seated in the foyer, testing out the comfortable furniture John took note of when he arrived. They stood as soon as they spotted him and together they made their way outside to wait for their carriage. The rain had thankfully stopped. Getting wet once that day was more than plenty for John.

Being the youngest among them, he allowed the others to climb in the carriage first, and then he closed the door with a resounding thud and settled back against the cushions of his seat. This one was much nicer than the one he had been trapped in on his ride from the train station.

He listened with half an ear to the gentlemen as they discussed their mills and their lives back home. Donkin and Trunesdale were the only two married, and both had young children. Watson was in his own thoughts, not adding much to the conversation and Slickson was busy making plans for their night time activities.

"What say you to Regent Street following the theater?" Slickson asked. It was rather clear the man had imbibed more than a single pint while he waited John's arrival.

"Regent Street?" John asked. He did not know London well, although each time he came he seemed to learn more of the town.

"Yes, Thornton." Slickson shouldered him. "That is where the fine _ladies of intrigue_ can be found."

"Oh. I see." John nodded, quickly glancing out the window to hide his discomfort.

Prostitutes and whores were not John's idea of entertainment. Instead he saw that as yet another waste of money. He liked women, just didn't wish to pay for their skills and contrived interest in him.

"You up for it?" Slickson laughed at his own pun.

"I believe I will pass, Slickson. You go on ahead and enjoy yourself." _And catch some sort of life-altering venereal disease and then I shall buy your mill at a drastic discount!_

"Thornton you are such a stick-in-the-mud!" Slickson complained. "You are a young, unattached man! Surely even _you_ would enjoy time in such an establishment."

"Even me?" His voice was deceptively calm.

He knew his reputation among the other men as introverted and reserved. That reputation was well justified and accurate, but hardly reason for ridicule.

"What about you Watson? Regent Street?"

Watson glanced warily at John before answering. "Let us see how the night progresses, shall we? At present all I am concerned with is filling my belly with fine food."

John would readily concur with that. It had been a long time since he'd breakfasted with his mother that morning. He was not certain of the people he would be meeting that evening, knew only they were friends of his landlord, Mr. Bell, and some had an interest in investing in the north.

John was not precisely comfortable in the drawing rooms of London, but he could fake his way through with the best of any actor. If it meant money for his mill, he would do about whatever might be necessary, perhaps even marrying an heiress.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Oh, my dear Margaret, you look so very fine this evening." Mrs. Edith Lennox, nee Shaw studied her from behind in the full length mirror in Margaret's bedroom.

"I'm so pleased to wear something other than mourning garb. Each time I looked down at the dark colors I was reminded of Mama." Margaret met her cousin's eyes in the mirror. "I do miss her ever so much, Edith, but when Aunt said I should wear a pretty color tonight, I felt free." She frowned, rather guilty about the pleasant feeling.

"I was so glad Mama said you could wear regular clothing for this week of festivities." Edith spun Margaret by the shoulders to face her. Being several inches taller, the lithe blonde bent and looked in Margaret's eyes and with a no-nonsense look on her face declared, "There should be no guilt, Margaret. My dear Aunt Hale would not have wished you to be sad and this week is the beginning of a new life for you and Uncle."

"Yes, of course, Edith." Margaret nodded and then suddenly embraced her cousin. "I do so love you." She kissed her cheek and turned back to the mirror. "Am I finished, then?" She teased the curls hanging at the nape of her neck.

"On more thing I wish to tell you."

Edith looked so very serious as Margaret met her eyes in the looking glass. She turned back to face her again.

"Whatever is wrong?" She frowned and took Edith's soft hands in hers.

"I am with child." Edith glanced up from her hands, an enormous smile on her face.

"A baby?" Margaret whispered, almost reverently.

Edith bobbed her head repeatedly.

"A baby!" Margaret yelled and instinctively touched her cousin's stomach. "How soon?"

"Shhh." Edith laughed at Margaret's extreme reaction. "I have not even told Mama yet." Edith embraced Margaret. "I am so _very_ happy! The Captain was beside himself. Speechless, he was! I suppose by the end of November I will be a mother!"  
" _Your_ husband? _Speechless_? I imagine that was _quite_ a sight to behold! A baby for Christmas!" Margaret chuckled, bubbles of happiness rising through her.

Soon Edith was laughing, too. They had been like sisters these past ten years as Margaret lived with the Shaws most of each year. Margaret was brought to London after Uncle Shaw died, to provide companionship for Edith and offer Margaret educational and cultural opportunities not available in the countryside where Helstone was situated.

"I am feeling very well so far. Mornings are a bit difficult, but otherwise I am quite myself." Edith smiled. "We better go downstairs to await these _manufacturers_." She glanced in the mirror to adjust her hair a final time. "The Captain is very firm in his desire to invest with one of them."

"Mr. Bell believes they are the very finest, and the first men of Milton," Margaret told her.

"We shall see. Mama is rather set in her opinion that they are _not_ gentlemen, so I shall be interested to judge the manners of a mill master." A frown creased Edith's beautiful face. "I do not believe I have ever dined with a manufacturer before."  
"I know I have not," Margaret said. "It shall be a first for both of us."

Margaret threaded her arm through Edith's and slowly they descended the wide staircase where Mr. Bell and Mrs. Shaw stood waiting for their guest to arrive. Captain Lennox and his annoying, cloying brother Henry stepped from the drawing room at the sound of Mr. Bell's booming greeting of Margaret and Edith.

"What a charming vision." Mr. Bell reached forward from the base of the grand staircase and took Margaret's hand. "Mrs. Shaw I do not believe you need to even bother with food this evening. The men will simply feast on the charming vision provided by Mrs. Lennox and Miss Hale."

Margaret snorted. How absurd! "Oh, Mr. Bell!"

Aunt Shaw rolled her eyes, but then chuckled at the ridiculous comment. "Let us await our guests in the drawing room, shall we?"

She led the way into her drawing room and quickly found a seat. Henry Lennox, an attorney and frequent visitor at the house on Harley Street was close behind, nipping at Margaret's heels as he seemed to do rather often as of late. Henry was a fine man, just not fine enough for her.

"Your father will be down shortly," Aunt Shaw told Margaret.

"Thank you," she answered.

Her father was not comfortable in large social gatherings, but had agreed to participate during this activity because he knew he would learn more about his possible future town. The door knocker thumped and suddenly Margaret's heart lurched. Since the conversation with Mr. Bell this morning, she had been particularly interested in meeting two of the men slated to visit the home this evening.

"Mrs. Shaw, may I present Walter Blakely, Jackson Pierce, and William Sanders?"

They all stood to welcome the three gentleman. Mr. Bell walked forward and shook their hands in turn. He turned toward the others and made proper introductions. Margaret understood these were the investors Bell had invited to meet the northern men. They were well dressed, looked to be of quality, well-situated gentlemen.

She had high hopes for the Milton men, was pulling for their success, even though she had yet to meet them. It seemed a fine thing for the men to be doing, drumming up support for their mills and in turn keeping the town of Milton alive. If the mills were to close, Mr. Bell had explained to her, thousands of men and women would be without employment. Families would be without food and their homes. It would be a horrible crisis.

As she was musing about the tragedy that could befall the town of Milton, the door knocker sounded again. Her father stepped next to her to await the new arrivals. This time, she assumed, it would be the mill men come to call.

A hush settled in the room. Five men, including the prestigious and respected, Lord Horsfall, dressed in formal black walked into Aunt Shaw's drawing room. Most of the guests appeared awed to be in the presence of an earl. Margaret's eyes, however, were powerfully drawn to a tall, exceedingly broad-shouldered, raven-haired man hanging toward the back of the group.

From her spot near the fireplace, Margaret was able to study him surreptitiously, without drawing any attention to her close scrutiny. His face was not exactly plain, but not quite handsome either. His expression, his very demeanor was powerful, but he appeared rather stern and perhaps a bit haughty. Lord, she felt like her whole body was blushing. As if he could sense her interest, he shifted attention from Aunt Shaw and made eye contact with her and something wonderful, inexplicable passed between them. She'd never had such a potent reaction to a man before. _Ever_. She looked away with a swallow, feeling the nerves in her stomach, threatening revolt.

Margaret remained locked at her position, simply enjoying listening to the conversations whirling around her. In all her days at Harley Street, her Aunt had never entertained this many people at one time. Christmas parties were often full of excitement, but not this many people. Mr. Bell was smiling, certainly in his element, being his charming self as the wine and sherry was quickly passed about by the Shaw butler.

Soon Margaret's father was drawn into the conversation with Mr. Bell and the mill men. Lord, the tall, dark man was fine to look upon. He smiled and nodded at her father when they were introduced. Her father was a full head shorter, easily old enough to be the man's father.

Usually proper and demure around men, strange men especially, Margaret's attraction to the man was about to propel her to do the unthinkable. Pushed by an invisible force, and oblivious to all going on around her, she slowly weaved her way through the dark coated men. To Margaret, they all looked like fine gentleman. On a street corner, with no previous knowledge, she certainly would be unable to distinguish between Lord Horsfall and the mill men of Milton.

Before Margaret could make it to the group her father had joined, Henry halted her progress.

"Would you like some wine, Margaret?" His voice was smooth as he offered.

"No thank you, Henry. Excuse me." He looked well that evening, but the man was a friend, nothing more. No matter how hard she tried to convince him of that fact, he seemed deliberately oblivious to it.

She left Henry standing alone, something of a social _faux pas_ , but she wished to be elsewhere, definitely away from him. Remaining bold, Margaret edged into the circle of men, next to her father's elbow, hoping Mr. Bell would include her in the introductions of the men.

 _Tall, Dark and Handsome_ looked her way as she came to join them. His eyes remained locked on her, didn't avert as she joined them. She smiled to herself, thinking him rather forward, but his attention was welcome. She quickly reminded herself that he is not a London gentleman, surely unaccustomed to the proprieties and niceties of the south. Indeed, perhaps the secret social rules were a bit different in the north and among men of his ilk.

"Ah, Miss Hale." Mr. Bell smiled gently at her and drew her against his side in a rather protective gesture. "These are the mill men we spoke of earlier today." Mr. Bell continued to introduce them all individually, saving _Tall, Dark and Handsome_ until the last.

 _John Thornton._ Perfect name for a man of his position and demeanor.

"Miss Hale, a pleasure." She was immediately caught off guard by his accent.

"I have just told Mr. Thornton of Mr. Bell's offer of employment," he father said quietly.

"I know very little about the school," Mr. Thornton admitted. "Milton is an ever-growing industrial town with many children of industrialists, manufacturers and businessman alike which will benefit greatly from an opportunity at an education."

A man with progressive ideas!

"Would you like a glass of wine?" John asked her as one of the servants stopped by them.

She nodded, surprised she agreed to take one after refusing Henry.

"Thank you," she told him as he handed her a glass. Their fingers brushed slightly and her eyes flew to his face to see if he'd done so on purpose. She could sense no intention to be forward, but she still felt herself flush.

"Do you and your father live here, in London?" Oh that deep, baritone voice. So honeyed, warm and deep the sound made her toes curl.

"No, we are from Helstone." She looked to her father who continued.

"I have been a clergyman in that village for nearly twenty-five years. My wife…" he swallowed, "recently passed leaving just Margaret and me."

Margaret smiled at her father, who still wore his mourning clothes, and snuck her hand through his arm to offer comfort.

"Helstone is in the south, is it not?" The man called Mr. Trunesdale asked this time

"Yes, it is a quaint, rural village in Hampshire with plenty of sun and green grass and trees." She glanced away from Mr. Trunesdale who looked sort of glassy eyed at her, and turned to Mr. Thornton who listened intently, as if her thoughts mattered to him. "The parsonage is situated right along a narrow stream. Father used to fish..." She lost her train of thought. Something about Thornton's cornflower blue eyes reminded her of home.

"What of Milton?" Her father picked up the conversation. "If I am, well _we,"_ he smiled down at her, "are considering such a drastic change, I should like to have some opinions on the location. Mr. Thornton, have you lived there long?"

"All my life." He grinned and her heart did an odd flip-flop in her chest. "It is not an idyllic rural village such as Miss Hale describes." He grin kindly. "It's quite the opposite, in fact. It is a bustling city, with a growing industrial population. My sister often calls it dirty and grimy. But, Mr. Hale, it is that _grime_ which runs England. It has made us the world power which we are."

She took a sip of wine to cover the discomfort his voice and looks created inside her.

"Milton has a park, and some paved streets if you care to walk. There is an open produce market that my wife likes to visit often," Mr. Donkin said. "She and my daughter Sarah, who is likely about your age, Miss Hale, do their shopping in Milton. There are niceties available, perhaps not to the scale of London, but none-the-less still easy to procure."

She nodded and smiled at Mr. Donkin. She liked him immediately.

"We also have a theater. If you enjoy dancing, assemblies are held monthly," Mr. Slickson told her. "We have musicians from all over the world come to Milton. And don't forget, we are one of the richest areas of the country at present." He pointed his index finger at her.

Oh dear, _gentlemen_ didn't point at ladies. This man at least resembled the rough men she rather expected them all to be like. Still, he was quite refined.

"It sounds as if the appropriate men have to come to London to solicit support for Milton." She smiled wide. "Indeed you three appear to find it a perfect place. A utopia?" She twitched her lips and waited for the reaction from Mr. Thornton.

He cleared his throat and shook his head. "Hardly a utopia! At least not as Sir Thomas More described in his book." She became light-headed when he smiled at her, showing straight white teeth and a slight dimple in his left cheek. "Indeed, likely not perfect for everyone," Mr. Thornton was quick to say, looking pointedly over her shoulder. "Simply home for me."

Margaret glanced over her shoulder to see what Mr. Thornton might be looking at. _Henry_. What a shame he wouldn't leave her be!

"As I said, Margaret, it will be quite different from what you have known," Mr. Bell warned. "However, at this time, I believe you and your father might benefit from such a significant change."

Henry managed to edge himself into the conversation, stepping up to her side. Mr. Bell introduced him, along with the Captain and Edith. The circle widened significantly, the mill men welcoming the newcomers, and continuing to explain their businesses and the necessity for more investors.

Captain Lennox, Edith's handsome husband was like a baby kitten with milk, lapping up all the information the men from Milton were sharing about their mills, their way of life. She knew she should leave, it was a man's conversation, but she felt a magnetic pull to remain, to listen to the Darkshire voices as they described their methods of business. Frankly, she found it rather fascinating.

Despite being hungry, she was disappointed when dinner was announced, knowing she would be separated from these interesting men. She took her father's arm and allowed him to seat her at the table. Mr. Thornton was seated directly across from her, Henry to her right.

As the courses passed, conversation centered on the strike that Milton just managed to pull through. The other men, the investors that were there, had pointed questions about recovery time, return on investment, and other business topics Margaret really couldn't wrap her brain around.

It was John Thornton's facial expressions that enthralled Margaret as he explained in fairly great detail what his plans were for his Marlborough Mills. Just as she'd decided when she first set her eyes on him, she remained steadfast in her opinion that Thornton was not precisely a handsome man. His face was rather craggy in spots, his hair a bit shaggier than she preferred, but his eyes and his bearing were such that she was forcefully, profoundly drawn to him. He might be as old as thirty-five, she realized. Was that too old for her? Probably. Edith and the captain were only four years apart. Her mother and father six years. He was probably married anyway. She frowned down at her plate at that thought.

When the discussion shifted to talk about the Great Exhibition that they were attending as a group the following day, Margaret became excited. She did not know Mr. Bell had arranged for these men to be going along there as well. Her heart sped up a notch when she realized that would give her more opportunity to be in Mr. Thornton's presence.

Margaret discreetly studied John from under the fall of her lasses, the whole of dinner. Her mother would have said he had fine manners, but would ultimately agree with her sister, Aunt Shaw, that he was not a _true_ gentleman. No manufacturer, a person that must work for a living as a tradesman, could be considered a _true_ gentleman. But what if they were wrong? And how did the man across from her differ so greatly from what might be perceived as a gentleman? Her mother thought Mr. Gorman good enough to wed, surely she would see these men in the same way. Would she not?

Mr. Thornton caught her staring. She flushed with a startled breath, and looked down at her plate.

"Are you well?" Henry surprised her with the question.

"Yes." She nodded, trying to calm her breathing. "I am quite well."

"Will you be attending the Exhibition tomorrow, Miss Hale?" Mr. Thornton asked.

"Yes, I have been looking forward to it for several weeks." She nodded and glanced about the table, catching her father's wink, permission to expand her thoughts as she wished. "The papers here in London have been all a buzz." She took a sip of wine, openly regarding his pleasing countenance. "I was in Hyde Park just last week, and am quite amazed by the transformation I saw."

His face was quite angular, almost pointed and hawk-like. His dark hair contrasted dramatically with his ivory, rough skin, his blue eyes sparkled in soft candlelight of the chandelier and wall sconces, inviting her to continue to stare at him.

"It's been two years since I was last in that park," he told her, staring back. Had he lost his train of thought? She smiled at him hoping it would encourage the conversation to continue. "I understand at the Exhibition there is a large display of the types of machines that I utilize daily at my mill."

"Is that right?" Henry joined in without invitation, a sneer in his voice. "This will not be much of an exhibition for you then, as you are well aware of what you will be seeing."

She frowned at Henry, and then turned back to Mr. Thornton. "Surely there will be dozens of other displays you would like to see?" she asked Mr. Thornton. "I understand there are exhibits and displays from all over the world."

"Is tomorrow one of the shilling days?" It was Aunt Shaw that piped in with her irritating high pitched nasally voice." I shouldn't wish to attend on a day such as that." She frowned in such a way that her lips curled on top of themselves.

"A shilling day?" Mr. Hale asked.

"Oh, it's a special day for the poor to come through," Edith said, with a slight wave of her hand and roll to her eyes. "The Crown believes _every_ British subject should be exposed to the Exhibition."

Margaret narrowed her own eyes toward her cousin. Although she loved Fanny like a dearest sister, Margaret owned the girl was a snob, liked beautiful things, and just as her well-heeled mother, enjoyed spending money, extravagantly. But, to announce that she was too fine to be in attendance on a discounted day? That was rather vulgar, Margaret thought.

She glanced at Mr. Thornton, hoping he wasn't offended. Not that he should be. He was dressed quite well, carried himself with confidence and poise of a successful businessman. Indeed, she would easily mistake him for any wealthy gentleman of London. He didn't appear affected at all. Perhaps he felt the same. That gave her pause.

"Tomorrow is _not_ a discounted day, Mother Shaw," Captain Lennox soothed his mother-in-law.

She smiled gently at him, sipping more wine.

"Let us meet up there at the Crystal Palace at ten, shall we?" Mr. Bell suggested, glancing from face to face around the table. No one balked. "At the south entrance?"

Margaret's eyes were drawn to Mr. Thornton. She smiled at him. Where had her brazenness come from?

"What say you we meet here instead for breakfast?" Aunt Shaw suggested. "How fine that would look? Arriving there together as a great caravan?" The older women's face contorted in to a look of pleasure.

Margaret allowed her eyes to briefly flutter shut, praying silently someone would rightly object to such a spectacle.

"I must apologize, Mrs. Shaw, for we have an appointment booked for breakfast already," Mr. Bell replied quietly. "There are two investors who were unable to meet us at any other time."

Margaret studied her godfather. The wily man was lying! She covered a smile with her napkin. She couldn't blame him. Who would wish to arrive in such a great flourish of attention?

"We do have three extra tickets for the theater this evening, however," Mr. Bell continued. "I had procured tickets for the wives that did not join us this evening. I thought Perhaps Margaret, and Mr. and Mrs. Lennox would care to join us?"

Margaret's mouth formed a perfect "o" before she glanced at her father for approval. At his smile and nod she shrugged. "That would be lovely, Mr. Bell, thank you. Edith, Captain Lennox do you wish to go?"

Captain Lennox chuckled. "I can't say theater is something I truly enjoy but as the company this evening is so very entertaining and enlightening, I believe yes, I should very much like to go." He nodded vigorously, his boyish face glowing.

"Excellent," Mr. Bell said, rubbing his hands together. He shot Margaret a look she couldn't quite define, perhaps satisfaction that his plan was so readily accepted?

Margaret was curious what Mr. Thornton's reaction might be to spending more time in her company. Compelled by an unseen force, she turned her head slowly toward the visitor from the north, pleased, but a wee bit shocked to find his eyes on her, with an intensity she didn't quite understand. She looked away, down at her empty plate slightly breathless from the silent, heated glance.

He unsettled her, caused a bevy of sensations never experienced before. He was not like anyone she had ever met, and having been in London for most of the past ten her years, she had met _many_ men. Aunt Shaw did well to parade eligible gentlemen in front of her quite _often_. She wasn't impressed by many of them, although she had been offered men of every shape, size and personality. Aunt Shaw's idea of a prospective husband and her own were quite different, but Margaret could hardly fault the woman for trying.

"Perhaps I could find a ticket as well," Henry suddenly suggested. "I would hate for you to attend unchaperoned."

 _Ugh! Henry!_ Why could the fool not give up?

"I shall be happy to see to her entertainment and safety this evening, Mr. Lennox," Mr. Bell said quietly with an unmistakable firmness in his voice. Mr. Bell winked at her after Henry looked away.

"I see." Henry's voice was gruff. He was not well pleased. "Very well. As long as you will look after her."

Looked after her! She hardly needed a guard. How dare he imply that she did?

Margaret could sense the anger seeping from Henry as he sat stiff as a board next to her. She wanted to chastise him for assuming he had a hold over her, but as usual she would let the insult pass. She would, however, be certain to thank Mr. Bell from saving her from him for at least that evening. He was not a bad man, just annoying.

Margaret's desert arrived and she ate it in silence, her ears tuned into Mr. Thornton's smooth, accented voice as he discussed politics with Lord Horsfall. For a man not of London, he quite understood the needs of England and its people. She was becoming more and more enchanted by his deep voice and agreed with his conservative political views. He seemed quite progressive in a business sense, looking to bring even further prosperity to his community of Milton. His dreams and plans seemed so grand to her, and being from the farming area of the south his town seemed so foreign, a land of industries and factories, but she listened anyway, enthralled by what he spoke of. If this mysterious land of Milton was to be her new home, if her father wished to teach in the north, she must be ready for whatever might present itself. The more she knew of the industrial north the better for her.

"You are enjoying the lemon cake?" Margaret asked.

"Yes." Mr. Thornton nodded. "It is quite good and I am rather partial to lemon."

"I am, too," her father told him. The older man leaned over to whisper, "Margaret baked this for me to cheer me up."

Mr. Thornton sat upright. "My apologies! Here I am taking seconds on your cake."

"Nonsense." Her father patted Mr. Thornton on the back in a fatherly gesture. "You eat all you wish. I have her at hand to bake more for me. You just enjoy it!" He winked across the table at Margaret.

"I'm rather partial to cherries. Remember those tarts you baked last week?" Henry was not about to be left out of the conversation.

She nodded silently.

"We do not have a bakery in Milton that produces delicacies like this," Mr. Thornton told her. "Perhaps if you do settle in Milton you can open such an establishment?"

"What's this? Settle in Milton?" Henry sputtered. "Margaret whatever is Mr. Thornton talking about?"

She glanced at her father for rescue, which he smoothly delivered.

"Yes, Mr. Lennox, it is true." He nodded. "We are considering a move north. Mr. Bell has offered me a fine position as headmaster of his boy's school, and I am strongly considering it."

"Milton? Margaret?"

She shrugged, not really certain how to handle his sudden, passionate outburst.

"Is that the Prince George school, by chance?" Mr. Trunesdale asked.

"It is!" Mr. Bell answered.

"Well, how opportune! My son will begin there this term. My wife and I were rather torn between him remaining in Milton and instead going to Eton. He is our eldest, you see, and it was hard to imagine him leaving us so soon."

"I think you will be well-pleased with the school," Mr. Bell said. "It already has a very long line of successful young men as its graduates."

Mrs. Shaw startled her by standing and suggesting the women retire to the drawing room. Margaret had become so engrossed in the conversation, she'd become oblivious to anything other than the discussion. The men rose to their feet. Henry, solicitous as always, pulled out her chair for her. She thanked him with a small smile and quickly looked away.

"We should be away in no more than thirty minutes," Mr. Bell said just before the ladies left the room.

Margaret glided across the hall into the drawing room, feeling light as air. She wasn't pleased Henry was so unhappy, but perhaps that would be enough for him to separate himself from her? When she thought of John Thornton enjoying her cake, and the warm looks her shot her direction throughout the meal… well, odd feelings coursed through her body, feelings that made her unmistakably happy. Unable to hide her smile, she poured herself a glass of sherry before sitting on the settee in the middle of the room.

"These men are so very interesting! Such energy they have for their manufacturing in the north." Mrs. Shaw commented as she closed the door quietly.

"I've enjoyed meeting them," Lady Horsfall said. "They have wonderful stories. Horsfall brings many interesting people home, of course, but these men have been quite pleasant and entertaining. They are all rather wealthy but carry no airs and haughtiness." She waved in the air. "I've enjoyed being around them. As you said, Mrs. Shaw, they have an energy that is sorely lacking among most of the gentlemen in London."

Unable to sit still, Margaret wandered to the window overlooking the street. She chanced a glance outside and was surprised to see several carriages being lined up on the road just outside their door.

"You've attracted the attention of one of the men, Margaret," Edith whispered in her ear.

The two women were standing shoulder to shoulder looking out the window.

"Do you think so?" Margaret knew Edith was right, of course, his interest was rather obvious. It was pleasing to have her reinforce the idea, anyway.

"Yes, of course! That Mr. Thornton was _quite_ attentive to you." Edith leaned closer, touching the sleeve of her dress. "Henry seemed jealous."

"He has no reason to be," Margaret told her, becoming flustered. She disliked discussing Henry with Edith. "I have no interest in Henry, no matter how forcefully you push him toward me. I think of him as a brother and a friend. Nothing more."

 _Please let it drop Edith!_

"That's a pity. It would be so lovely if we could all live in here in London."

Margaret turned away from her.

"You wouldn't need to move to Milton, and we could raise our families together." Edith insisted with a deliberate pout.

Margaret hated it when the girl pouted.

"We will always be close, Edith, even if I am living in the north." She rested her hand on Edith's silk encased arm. "You can come visit as you wish, and of course I shall come to London to see you." She lowered her voice. "Especially when your baby arrives."

"I hope it's a boy," she confided.

"I wish for a girl first," Margaret said wistfully. Unwittingly the image of Thornton fluttered through her head. The intense cornflower blue eyes matched with her own hazel green would create such a lovely pairing. Not to mention the dark wavy hair and height that she didn't possess. Oh dear, she shouldn't be thinking in such a way! She'd just met the man! _And he could be married_ , she reminded herself.

They entered then, all the men. Many of them had recovered their coats and appeared ready to depart. Mr. Bell walked toward her and extended his arm toward Margaret. "If you are ready to go, ladies, the carriages await."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The theater at Covert Garden was quite crowded that evening, no doubt in large part due to all the people in London for the Great Exhibition. John had decided on the carriage ride from Harley Street that he would do all in his power to be seated next to Miss Hale that evening. _All evening._ He craved her smile, he scent, her voice! Craved it! How could that be after only a few hours of acquaintance?

Could she have some sort of magical, mystical power? Had she cast a spell upon him? What else could be the explanation? A reticent, reserved man by nature, he caught himself smiling as he thought of her graceful ways; the way she turned her head just so as she looked up at him, how she caressed her wine glass.

By God, his mother had commanded him to find a woman to marry and without much work on his part, he had! Not only was she perfect, but she and her father were planning a move to Milton. Surely Bell had somehow arranged this whole scenario. The wily old man had the ability to do such things, and John imagined he would be owing him a large _thank you_ in the near future.

However, it seemed wherever Miss Hale seemed to go, that Lennox fellow was close behind. Did they have an understanding? Could that be why the little man hovered around her constantly? Miss Hale appeared far less interested in him than Lennox was in her. In fact, John thought, she did not appear overly attached to the man at all. Perhaps it was a one-sided interest solely on Mr. Lennox's part?

John could hope.

They alighted from their carriages at precisely the same moment. Mr. Bell, wearing a rather sly grin on his face, guided Margaret toward John and then quickly stepped away, allowing them to visit. The man had an obvious plan, placing her in John's path in such a way. He would indeed be thanking him later!

"Robert Smirke designed this building," Margaret told him, her deep, silky voice sending a chill down his spine down. She gestured toward the stately theater building, oblivious to what her mere presence was doing to his senses. Then she smiled and he knew all was lost. "Perhaps you know this already?"

Thankfully, the Lennox couple joined them, saving him from embarrassing himself.

He cleared his throat and hesitantly looked away from her, toward the building. "I have not been here before, so no, I wasn't aware of the building's designer." He returned her smile and greeted the Captain Lennox and his wife.

Together, the four of them moved with the crowd. He considered offering her his arm, but thought it might be a bit too forward to do so. He was working hard to summon all his gentlemanly behaviors. The last thing he wished to do was offend her. Women didn't ever affect him as this one did, and it was slightly unnerving. Business he handled without any great anxiety or stress. Personal matters were entirely different.

"I have been here at least once a year since I began coming to London when I was nine," she told him with a returning smile. "It's interesting to see the new performances each season." They continued to walk toward the front door, dodging people as they went. "I was pleased to hear Milton offered a theater."

He swallowed. Good Lord when had it become so difficult to carry on a simple conversation? "It is a pleasant center," he answered, over the din of the crowd. He took a deep breath before he continued, "You will find the performances are not as regular as here."

Miss Hale cocked her head and gave him a lovely smile. She was much shorter than he initially realized. "That's just as well. I should think that makes them all the more enjoyable. Something to look forward to." She shrugged and bumped into him when jostled by a clumsy man to her right, who apologized curtly.

He held her all too briefly, cherishing the moment of closeness before moving away. "Have care, Miss Hale," he whispered. "I would hate for you to sustain injury under my watch."

"I am well." She quickly accepted his arm when he offered it, her dainty hand sending little sparks of heat up his arm from where she touched him.

He had to remember to breathe, remember where they were and who they were with. It was if all his senses were on high alert, but all he could focus on was the beautiful women unbelievably attached to _his_ arm. If he bungled this opportunity, he would surely never forgive himself!

They reached the main entry, where Mr. Bell waited, holding their tickets for entry. Soon they were rejoined with the other members of their party, and together, they made their way inside. After they checked their coats with the waiting attendants dressed in fancy gear, John stepped slightly away to study the place. Hand-painted murals decorated each and every inch of the walls. Chandeliers with what seemed like thousands of crystals hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room in a soft glow. Truly, it looked more like a palace than a theater. He tried to look calm, not in awe, but he feared he failed. It was a beautiful theater, one that would outshine Milton's in Miss Hale's eyes.

Miss Hale was talking with her cousin and Mr. Bell, but Captain Lennox had joined with the men from Milton. He was a nice bloke, rather friendly and animated, but pleasant enough. He asked questions John could easily answer, which put him at ease.

Some of these London men liked to think they knew more than he did about every aspect of life, just because they lived in London. John was not a vain man, but he knew his worth, knew he was intelligent enough to speak on most topics of the day without making a fool of himself.

When a bell chimed, Mr. Bell collected the group and herded them up a short flight of stairs. They were ushered toward their seats by a man dressed in an orange silk costume, wearing a white wig. In any other circumstance, John would have laughed at the foolishness of the man's attire, but here, somehow it seemed fitting. He waited until Miss Hale was seated, with Mrs. Lennox on her other side, before he joined them. Slickson sat to his right, and Mr. Bell found a spot further down the aisle. John could not have planned this better had he tried.

Miss Hale was speaking animatedly with her cousin, so he bided his time, studying the other people and his impressive surroundings. He feared she would catch him staring at her, and that would hardly do. He focused, instead, on Miss Hale's smooth, cultured voice, laced with a gentle southern accent. It sounded so different from the Darkshire accents he was accustomed to, but truly _she_ was different from what he was accustomed to.

Her cousin became distracted by something Captain Lennox said to her, finally giving John an opportunity to converse with Miss Hale.

"Are you looking forward to your relocation?" he asked quietly, entranced by the beauty of her blue eyes.

"I am." She nodded definitively. "I am quite looking forward to being permanently reunited with my father, Mr. Thornton, be it London, Helstone or your Milton," she said. She stared silently at him for a moment before continuing. "After my mother passed, I came back up to London and he stayed in Helstone. The last six months have been very difficult for both of us."

So, she was still in mourning. With her pleasant, friendly, seemingly happy disposition, he would not have guessed her mother's passing was that fresh.

"I see. You have my sympathies for your loss, Miss Hale." He wanted to ask more, but remembered he must muster all of his gentlemanly ways.

"I thank you. She was ill for only a short time. The doctor told my father there was little pain." She shrugged, but he could tell she was deeply touched by her loss.

"If you move to the north with your father, will you not miss Mr. Lennox?"

A wry smile slid across her lips. "I believe Mr. Thornton, you are digging for an answer to a question you are perhaps uncomfortable to simply ask," she leaned into his side, enabling only him to hear her. "Perhaps you might just ask outright? You see, I much prefer people who speak plainly and not in riddles."

"Yes, very well." He chuckled and rubbed his suddenly moist palms on his thighs. "Most who are acquainted with me will tell you I am generally quite forthright. In fact, at times perhaps too blunt." He shifted in his seat to see her face. "Mr. Lennox seems quite taken with you, rather possessive, so I am inclined to wonder if there is an arrangement between the two of you."

When she smiled a small dimple appeared on her beautiful face. "Now see, Mr. Thornton? Was that not quite simple?"

The lights were suddenly lowered. John had a sinking feeling she wouldn't be answering his question! It had taken quite a bit of courage to even broach it in the first place and now she refused to answer it.

He sighed, feeling like a fool, knowing he was red in the face, he from Miss Hale, and toward the stage. _Idiot!_

The orchestra began to play and suddenly he felt a light tap on his hand which still rested on his thigh. He turned toward Margaret and found himself staring into her lovely face. Her eyebrows were raised and a small grin teased the edge of her mouth. She shook her head _no_. He leaned toward her slightly so he could hear what she wished to tell him.

"Henry and I have no agreement and we never will." She looked back at the curtain.

He found himself smiling at that, gave her a nod and turned back to the beginning of the presentation, feeling quite pleased with the information, happy that she wasn't promised to another and that he would have the opportunity to spend the rest of the evening with her and the day tomorrow as well.

"Of course," she added quietly, for his ears only, "that is of little consequence should your _wife_ not enjoy my company."

He was greatly taken aback that she should think him married! "I have no wife," he answered quickly. He looked about worried he'd been overheard by Slickson, but the other mill man was intently watching the stage. Despite the hundreds of people in attendance, to him, it quite felt as if they were all alone.

John admitted ruefully he was too unfamiliar with women, to be completely certain she was as smitten with him as he was with her. He had come to understand his spoiled sister's moods, and his mother's generally dour constitution, but a love interest? Well, he had never had to concern himself with such matters previously. He'd met many a fine lady, but the one sitting at his left elbow was the first to spark any true interest. She didn't seem to be like the flirty girls that fluttered around him in Milton. She was calm and had appeared quite interested in the discussion of politics and business he'd shared earlier at dinner with the other men.

She laughed at something on stage and he realized he was paying greater attention to her than the play. He chuckled, not at the play but at his own behavior. She had indeed put a spell on him, but he was in no hurry to overcome her charms.

At intermission, Mr. Thornton invited her to the lobby, explaining briefly that he needed to stretch his legs. He displayed a wiry energy, and she imagined being contained in one place for an extended time might cause frustration. He escorted her to the grand lobby where the murals illustrating the legends of Greek and Roman gods decorated the walls, and then excused himself to fetch them wine.

Edith edged up next to her. "What were you two whispering about?"

Her face heated as she recalled the conversation. She studied his long, lanky form as he procured their refreshment not too far away. "He wished to know if I was looking forward to the move north."

"You can't lie to me, dearest cousin. That was not _all_ the two of you spoke of."

"Fine," Margaret sighed, glanced toward Mr. Thornton and certain he was out of earshot continued. "He asked if Henry and I had an understanding."

Edith's eyes widened. "Truly?" She grabbed Margaret's shoulder. "How telling is that!"

"I was concerned he was married," Margaret continued. "He is obviously of an age where he should be."

"He is not married," Edith stated, a sheepish grin on her face.

"You knew?" Margaret charged with a frown.

"I had the Captain ask him." Edith's smile widened. "For you of course!" She tapped Margaret with her closed fan. "I'd not have a man preying on you!"

"Well, he told me as much. No wife." She smiled broadly.

From the corner of her eye she saw him coming toward her with her glass of wine. He handed it to her, and one to Edith before bowing and excusing himself. "I shall return shortly."

"Hmm," Edith said. "I would have thought he would not leave your side all evening."

"Whatever his mill men have to say must be more interesting that my thoughts." Margaret shrugged. Edith's husband was suddenly at his wife's side. "Well, if you will excuse me, I'm off to look at the murals." She smiled, tipped her head in a jaunty fashion and moved away from her cousin.

"You are a lucky bloke, Mr. John Thornton." Slickson tipped back his whole glass of wine and reached immediately for another. "She's a fine lady, that one."

John swallowed and nodded. She was perhaps _too_ fine for him. Lord, what was he thinking? A woman like _that_ with a rough fellow like him? Surely this could never be? This world in which he found himself that day was so foreign from everything he knew. He had dined in fine homes, had attended the theater, but never, in all his thirty four years had he felt such a connection, such an immediate, consuming draw to a woman.

"I, for one, hope her father decides to accept Bell's employment," Slickson continued.

"Oh?" John quizzed, frowning. "Why is that?"

"I need a wife, too," Slickson admitted. "If you won't snatch her up, I will be quite pleased to do so. I don't mind being second choice." Slickson winked.

"You believe I am her first?" Competing with Slickson in business was one thing. John was much more clever than he was, but with women…Slickson was far more experienced.

"I never took you for a daft fool, Thornton. I reckon she don't have much in the way of a dowry- her father being an old vicar turned headmaster at a school, but having her to look at across the table- not to mention the pillow- would not be much of a sacrifice."

John didn't care for the way Slickson spoke of Miss Hale, but if he chastised him, surely John's interest in the girl would be obvious. If it wasn't quite obvious to the world, already.

"And yes, it is rather plain she prefers you above all us other manufacturers."

John's ego puffed up a bit at that admission and he straightened his shoulder. Perhaps it was not so outlandish to think she might have an equal attraction to him.

"She may have a suitor, Slickson," John said. He knew it wasn't Henry Lennox, but there could be another.

"Who? That pansy Lennox, fellow?" Slickson snorted. "A woman of her ilk needs a _real_ man, not some fancy gent trained in only the niceties of the world." He whistled, staring at her. "I'll give you until tomorrow night at eleven fifty-nine to make your interest known. After that, she's mine." Slickson finished his second glass of wine and left John to find the waiter for another glass.

The bell chimed again, calling them to reenter the theater for the play to continue. He'd not taken his eyes off of her the entire intermission and easily spotted her among the other patrons. He put his empty wine glass on the table and made his way toward where she remained, looking about, perhaps for him?

She was a lovely woman. Shorter than him by a head, she had a perfect, feminine build. He did prefer well rounded women to skinny ones, and while Miss Hale's form fell somewhere in between, she had a very pleasing figure.

As he waded through the throng of people to get to her, she caught sight of him and gifted him with a smile. It was that smile, and her lovely eyes that appealed to him the most, he realized. Her teeth were white and perfectly aligned. Her eyes, a light shade of green, reminded him of the springtime, his favorite season. It was the only time of the year when Milton smelled fresh and the smog from the chimneys was not clogging the skies.

"You found me!" she said with a small grin.

He wouldn't admit that he'd stared at her the whole time, followed her movement from mural to mural as she studied the Greek warrior images that he'd read about as a child. Did she know the stories, too? Could they perhaps have something in common, beyond physical attraction?

"I keep my promises, Miss Hale." He took her hand and threaded it through his arm. He bent low to reach her ear, and whispered, "Always."

"I imagine that is an excellent trait for your business dealings." She sounded breathless, and her flawless, porcelain skin has an enchanting flush.

"Yes," he said. "Personal dealings as well."

Perhaps his wooing skills were not as lacking as he believed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The glorious Crystal Palace, Prince Albert's dream venue to showcase the treasures of the world and the unparalleled power of England, was far grander than Margaret could ever have imagined. In only eight months, Hyde Park had been transformed into a fairytale land, with objects from all over the world proudly exhibited for all the world to admire. Mr. Joseph Paxton had done a brilliant job of constructing the enormous structure entirely of glass. How in the world it might withstand a heavy storm, Margaret could not imagine, but today, with the sun shining, she could scarcely believe a more perfect place in all of the world.

She'd arrived at _The Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of all Nations_ with her cousin Edith, the Captain, Henry Lennox, and Aunt Shaw. The presence of the older woman curbed Margaret's desire to twirl in delight at the sights, and instead, she decorously admired all sides of the impressive building. Aunt Shaw would never approve of such a display of excitement, but today, Margaret was happier than she had been in… well, as long as she could remember.

That morning, her father had encouraged her to wear her newest gown, not one of the sedate gray or violet mourning gowns she had donned since her mother's passing. The lapis blue and white stripped, silk summer gown was lovely, nearly matching the clear sky. _And Mr. Thornton's eyes._

She flushed as she thought of Mr. Thornton. She looked furtively about for the man from Milton, but instead caught the eye of Henry. She cringed and immediately turned away. The last thing she wished for was to draw _his_ attention. He paid her far too much attention as it was. The man simply could not understand she wished to remain as casual acquaintances. Friends perhaps, but nothing more. Ever. She turned her back on him, possibly rude, but she wished to see the men from Milton the very moment they entered the building.

She looked between the two doors which she could view without twisting her body or moving any nearer to Henry. She clearly recalled Mr. Bell and Aunt Shaw had agreed the night before to meet today at the south entrance of the Exhibition, so that is where they waited. But, there was no sign of Mr. Thornton or his traveling companions.

Had their morning meeting taken longer than they'd anticipated? What if he had changed his plans entirely, and would no longer be attending the Exhibition? Her heart thudded to stop when she considered that possibility. She swallowed back the worry and smiled at her cousins' enthusiasm as Edith read the multitude of countries listed on the entrance map. _He would come. He must come!_

After her father said she could dispense with her mourning clothes, Margaret had taken extra care with her appearance that morning. She'd allowed Dixon to pin and curl and tease her hair in an odd, but lovely knot on the back, side of her head. She even wore a dash of perfume on her neck and powdered her cheeks. Mr. Thornton had stirred something inside her, something that made her feel lightheaded and giddy. She liked being with him, and he seemed to return the sentiment.

The night before at Covent Gardens had ended far too soon for Margaret's taste. She could have remained in the man's company for far longer than permitted by the play. He was a manufacturer, a hardworking man from the north, an area she had no experience or knowledge of. An enigma, she longed to pull back the layers of his personality and know the man he was. Aunt Shaw, condescending by nature, looked down on these manufacturing men. They were not _gentlemen_ in her eyes. Perhaps not in the truest sense, but Margaret saw no indication of crass manners or any questionable behavior.

Edith suddenly rounded on her from behind. Startling her, Edith slipped an arm through Margaret's. "They are here." She smiled and slowly rotated Margaret to face the _east_ entrance where the group from the north was standing, looking about.

How could she have missed their entrance?

A breath caught in her throat the minute she spied him. Wearing a tall hat and dark clothes, John Thornton looked every bit the London gentleman. Only his accent might give him away as a visitor to the capital city. His manners and carriage were indistinguishable from the Lennox gentlemen and many other fine gentlemen surrounding them.

"Shall we go meet them?" Margaret asked quietly.

"That would certainly never do, Margaret." She bent slightly to whisper in Margaret's ear. "You mustn't be forward. He will find us, I am certain." She smiled gently and patted Margaret's arm. "You look particularly lovely today."

"Thank you." Margaret sighed. Edith was right. She could hardly approach Mr. Thornton, but that didn't make the wait any easier. At least he had come to the Exhibit.

Mr. Thornton was not looking toward them, instead he appeared in deep conversation with a shorter, round man who Margaret did not recognize. Would he come to her? Margaret continued to stare at the group of men, also quite inappropriate for a woman of her standing. Suddenly, Mr. Bell strolled in, a beautiful, gray-haired, older woman on his arm. She furrowed her brows. Interesting. Margaret never imagined her dear godfather with a female companion, but she was pleased to see the dapper gentleman so happy.

Surely the group would move inside and join them now that Mr. Bell had arrived?

Henry came to her side and suddenly she felt quite trapped. She could not move away without causing a scene, she was smashed between Edith and henry, nor could she continue to gaze at Mr. Thornton. Since her father's arrival in London from Helstone the week before, Henry had been extra diligent in his attentions toward her. Why he suddenly clamped onto her, Margaret couldn't say, but it was annoying and it needed to end. Immediately.

"Come. Let us look at the map, Margaret," Edith suggested, and dragged her through the crowded area, toward a large board with illustrations of the building layout.

"Thank you for pulling me from him," Margaret said quietly as they walked away from Henry and the Captain.

"I do not see why you dislike him so," Edith whispered. "He is perfectly amiable."

Margaret snorted, and then flushed. "As a friend, Edith, he is fine, but he wishes for more. More than I can give him."

"And, would it be so bad?" She stopped walking. "We would always be together, then. You would not need to go to Milton with Uncle Hale." She clucked her tongue and leaned forward. "You would not want for anything."

 _But what of love?_

Margaret opened her mouth to say just that, however the Lennox men were now close enough to hear, should she answer, so she held her tongue. Margaret shook her head in frustration over the pressure Edith was placing upon her, and noticed Aunt Shaw speaking with two women she seemed to know.

They paused to wait for Aunt Shaw to catch up, giving Margaret a chance to look discretely over her shoulder to see where Mr. Thornton still was. She hoped he had seen her, and would soon join them. He seemed to have a genuine interest in her, had kissed her hand not once, but _twice_ before they departed the theater in separate carriages the night before. Even in their very short association she was far more attracted to him than she had ever been to Henry. Perhaps it was simply because he was different from the men Margaret was usually introduced to, but she thought there was much more to the fascination.

"Margaret, let us go look at Indian textiles, shall we?" Edith gained her attention once again and pointed to the spot on the map where the Indian Court was situated, and then looked at her. "The Indians have such lovely patterns on their cotton," she continued. "I wonder if we might be able to purchase them."

"I shouldn't think so, Edith," Henry insinuated himself in the conversation. "This is strictly for display and enlightenment." He leaned forward with an ugly smirk on his face. "Not shopping."

Edith snorted at her brother-in-law and tipped her nose in the air. "We shall ignore them," she whispered, speaking of Henry and the Captain. "Perhaps they will go away. This way, Margaret." Edith threaded her arm through Margaret's to pull her along. "I read in the paper that India is one of the most popular sections. I expect it to be quite the crush!"

Margaret glanced over her shoulder where Mr. Thornton stood, solid as a rock, speaking with the same man. Surely they would miss one another, and that simply would not do!

"I wonder, Edith, should we not wait for Mr. Bell?" Margaret nodded toward the group of men.

Edith shook her head quickly. "If we do not get to the India exhibit right off, it shall be too crowded to see it! Margaret you _know_ I so dislike crowds."

 _Since when?_ Margaret wondered, with a frown. "Oh, very well," she huffed.

With one further glance over her shoulder, she sighed and followed as her headstrong cousin marched them away. She hoped Mr. Thornton saw her, for if he did not, she doubted they would encounter each other in the mad throng of people at the Exhibition. Worse yet, there was no other outings scheduled where they might cross paths. _Drat!_

"What was that, Margaret?" Henry had heard her!

"Nothing." She allowed her lips to perk slightly and turned away from the annoying man. Why did he have to come along? Did the man never work? For an attorney he seemed to have quite a bit of free time. The Captain was on leave for extended time, but Henry? He should be occupied, or at least quite far away from her.

Despite the unwanted company, she was determined to enjoy herself. As they cut their path along the red-carpeted main avenue to the back of the exhibit hall, Margaret gawked at the grand prospect. Huge pillars lined the hall, creating pathways. Made of granite or marble, the imposing columns shimmered as the sun cascaded down through the rounded glass roof.

"Is this not the most marvelous thing you have ever seen, Edith?" They stopped briefly right in the middle of the building. There an enormous, glass fountain was situated, with water cascading in soothing streams into a marble pool. Margaret reached out to touch the water, surprised how cold it was. Aunt Shaw had caught up with them finally and the five paused to look about. It was odd to feel like a tourist in the city Margaret called home for so many years, but today she felt she'd been transported to a foreign locale.

People were dressed in all sorts of clothing, from the simplest garments of cotton to the more elaborate and expensive gowns as she and Edith wore. Some wore the clothes of foreigners, brilliantly colored _Saris_ and long tunics. Uniformed guards, oversaw the exhibits.

So many people! They varied in age from the very young, still in nappies and the aged whose faces showed the awe and interest that Margaret herself felt. The exhibit had attracted just what Prince Albert had sought- the whole of the world to see the exceptionalness of England and her full empire.

"Let us keep going." Edith pulled on Margaret's arm and caught her husband's hand.

"Edith, do slow down, this is hardly a race," Margaret said, with a chuckle. She'd not seen Edith with this much energy in months. She met the Captain's eyes and he merely shook his head with a smile. The beautiful blonde had turned suddenly into a whirlwind.

"I just wish to see it all, Margaret. Don't you? Lord, this place is immense!" Edith continued to rush along.

"Can we not stop here first?" Margaret pointed to an area off the Nave where all the British manufacturing was displayed.

"No, we cannot," Edith answered firmly. "We will stop here as we make our way to the back. We are going to the _Indian exhibit_."

Margaret struggled to keep up with her cousin's pace. She'd worn a new pair of shoes that were a bit tight at the toe. They passed the Queen's retiring room, just before they arrived at the Indian Court. Situated in a place of great honor, the Court reportedly took up near thirty-thousand feet of the Crystal Palace, more than any other exhibit of the English empire.

Margaret took a deep breath to refill her lungs and she and Edith stopped short at the glorious sights ahead of them. It was a veritable Oriental fantasy land!

"Shall we start on this side?" Edith pointed to the right.

Margaret nodded and due to space concerns, pulled away from her cousin. Henry was close, but not inappropriately so. The first niche they encountered was a display of painted, wooden shelves filled with colorful, decorative pottery. As Margaret had little interest in it, she moved on until she encountered a display of the most beautiful chintzes and silks textiles she had ever seen.

"Oh my," she whispered to herself, delighted by the dreamy array.

"They are quite lovely," Edith admitted.

"Would it not be decadent to wear a garment from such cloth?" Margaret asked. She caved into her desire to touch the fine garments. Smooth as anything, the chintz, which she'd never felt before, glided through her fingers just like the water from the fountain had.

"Perhaps." Edith moved ahead to the next display, and ran her hand over a mustard colored, embroidered and beaded fabric. "Oh, it is so very lovely, is it not? So different from our silks and cottons. Quite exceptional!"

Margaret frowned, recalling a letter from Edith while her cousin was on her wedding trip. "Did you not write me from Corfu last year that no one is wearing cotton?" Margaret asked. At the time, the comment had not seemed relevant, however, now having _met_ a manufacturer of cotton, she was far more interested.

"Yes, well, that is what the Greeks claimed, but it seems there is plenty available and even the Queen continues to wear cotton gowns, so it shall continue to be fashionable." Edith took one length of fabric and ran her hand lovingly over it. "I must say I prefer silks and these are the loveliest I have _ever_ seen."

"Indeed," Margaret nodded. With a final glance, she moved away from the fabrics and instead studied the woven carpets hanging from display hooks, their rich thickness obvious to even her unskilled eye.

"Do you smell that?" Edith asked, stopping next to her.

Margaret sniffed the air and frowned. "I do." She sniffed again. "I do not recognize it." She looked around for the origin, but could see nothing that would emit such a unique scent. 

"Ah! Look there! There it is." Edith tapped Margaret's arm and then pointed toward a darkened corner of the India room before walking toward a small table, where glass jars of colored spices were labeled and displayed.

An earthy scent, floating in the air, pleasantly sweet and rather woodsy caught her attention. The jars were somehow adhered to the table, could not be picked up, but Margaret could lean forward and smell whichever one might appeal to her. The one she liked the most was labeled cardamom, but there was such a variety of scents and colors! She wished she could scoop out some and take it home to flavor their evening meals.

"I do not think Cook would even know what to do with such spices!" Edith proclaimed. "Yet, after the meals the Captain and I had in Corfu… oh Margaret they were so delicious. Nothing like you had ever experienced before, cousin!"

"Yes, I can imagine." Margaret swallowed and looked away, yet again feeling inferior to her beautiful cousin, Edith. _More mention of the wonderful wedding trip and perfection of her life_. Margaret sighed and moved away.

Margaret had been treated with respect while living with Aunt Shaw, but she knew she was always in London to be Edith's _companion_. Despite being raised in London's grand surroundings, with the finest clothing and exceptional opportunities for classes and education that most of her station could only dream about, she was there solely for Edith's benefit and pleasure. Perhaps never implicitly stated, the implication was always quite clear.

Margaret's parents, older when they had their children, thought to give their only daughter every advantage. Maria Hale, formerly Beresford, had married well below station when she chose Richard Hale, a gentleman's son and young vicar. Their fortunes never improved, and despite the energy with which Mrs. Hale encouraged her husband to climb in the church ranks, he was quite satisfied in his parish in the small village of Helstone. In despair, once Margaret turned ten, and their son went off to the Navy, Maria Hale convinced her husband to send Margaret to London to live with her sister Anna Shaw. He reluctantly agreed, but requested Margaret be allowed home during the summers and holidays.

And so, for the last ten years of her life, Margaret was shuffled between Helstone and London. She felt torn between the two worlds, and while she was happy in both places, she never really felt at home in either. She didn't know her parents well, and it seemed just as she began to become accustomed to them each year, their habits and routines, she would be sent back to London to be with spoiled, coddled Edith.

Margaret loved Edith, but she would always feel inferior to her, even if she married a prince and settled in a great castle in some romantic far-away land. She would always hold her tongue, and listen to what she was told to do. She was to be seen and not heard. That is how Aunt Shaw liked her best.

She thought maybe when Edith married things would change, but it seemed nothing had. The Captain had moved into the Shaw home, was more of Edith's companion now than Margaret. But, with the passing of her mother, Margaret's father needed her. Would she now become _his_ companion? Life in London was never dull, but the idea of being her father's companion… well, what sort of life might she have?

Heart sinking, she wandered aimlessly toward a colorful displays of rich jewels, gaudy to Margaret's taste but likely worth a king's ransom. Under thick glass, brooches, lovely chokers, rings, earrings and huge bejeweled amulets were displayed under the careful watch of smartly uniformed guards.

"Are you well, Margaret? Have you heard a word I have said?"

"Forgive me, Edith." Margaret smiled away her cousin's concern as she often did. "I find I am overwhelmed by the splendor of everything," she lied. "India is a land of so many wonders! Truly it _is_ the jewel in England's crown." She smiled again, hoping Edith would let the topic drop.

"Can you imagine having these jewels to wear, Margaret?" She snorted. "Lud! It would be heaven just to borrow them for an evening."

"Perhaps," Margaret agreed with a bit of a hesitation. "They are rather ostentatious for my taste."

"Yes, but for a wedding or formal dinner? How lovely would that be?" Edith rested her dainty, glove covered finger tips against the glass case, peering inside at the glittering decorations.

Margaret was silenced by her cousin's fascination with the jewels. If there was a symbol which accurately defined the difference of values between Edith and Margaret it was the glitzy display in front of them. Edith could easily don the jewels and look perfectly comfortable. Margaret was not like that at all. In truth, she preferred to be very modest and understated in her dress.

To her, wealth was insignificant. As a clergyman's daughter, she saw life as more than material wealth, knew that a person must worry more about caring for others than having loads of possessions. Her mother never understood that, and often argued with her father over that very point. Margaret, on the other hand, knew wealth would not bring her true happiness. Security was necessary, but great, extensive wealth did not impress her.

She sighed, understanding that her view was a contradiction to the world in which Edith and Aunt Shaw lived in. It might well be opposite of what Mr. Thornton, and his companions believed as well. She would not give up her values for anyone, no matter how much he might make her heart flutter in her chest.

She walked toward the enormous stuffed elephant occupying much of the middle of the Indian Court. Atop the enormous faux animal, was an ornately adorned saddle labeled _howdah_. The gilded contraption appeared large enough to sit two people, and had an elaborate canopy that would shelter the elephant rider from the sun, rain or whatever elements the Mother Nature might throw its way.

"They borrowed the elephant prop from an amusement park in Essex, you know?" Henry stood directly behind her, close enough so felt the heat from his body, and his breath tickling her ear. If she stepped back but an inch she would be against him. She chose to move away instead.

"Is that right?" she asked.

"You do that often, Margaret." He trailed after her. "You move away from me. Do I offend you?"

"Henry." Frowning, she faced him, searching for kind words. "You do not offend me, but I do not wish you to think there is anything beyond friendship between us."

"Why is that Margaret? Have I not shown you my intentions? What must I do to secure your interest?"

He sounded like a petulant child unable to get the sweet treat he'd been promised. She took a deep breath, ready to state what she had often rehearsed in front of her bedroom mirror. "I value you as a friend. You are part of the family. I do not think of you as anything other than Edith's brother."

He sighed, appeared as if the air had been released from his sails. "That can change, if you would but give me a chance!" He guided her toward a deserted corner of the exhibit. His hand briefly rested on her shoulder, but he moved it immediately when she shrugged it off. He lowered his face, and his voice. "Edith does not wish you to go to Milton, I would be glad to offer…"

"Henry," she interrupted, "I shall not say it again after today. I do not wish to keep company with you. I will be your friend, but never your lover." She whispered the last part, knowing that in public that would be seen as highly improper.

"Fine!" His face turned red, and he immediately stomped away, leaving her alone to recover from what should never have been discussed in public. Or private, really.

After a few minutes of solitude, she reclaimed her wits and rejoined Edith and Aunt Shaw. The Captain was gazing about, a bored look on his face. Not much seemed to amuse the Captain, except cards. Margaret had seen him get excited on the evenings he joined his friends at his club, but otherwise he was a rather dull fellow. Not so much different from Henry.

"Henry has moved on," the Captain said. "Ladies?" He held out elbows for Edith and Aunt Shaw. "Shall be on our way, as well?"

"Where shall we go?" Edith asked as they made their way through the Indian Court that was becoming rather crowded.

"I would like to see the British machinery," the Captain said, leading them back onto the main avenue. "They call it the _Machinery in Motion_ exhibit. The gentlemen coming with their wives tonight to our home tonight for the card party are looking to invest in a speculation." He shrugged. "Since meeting those industrial, northern fellows last night, I must say I am impressed by the notion."

"I had forgotten we were having company this evening," Aunts Shaw said, a sour look upon her face. "Edith you must remind me to tell Cook to have refreshments made."

"I have already seen to that, Mother. Thank you."

Margaret pinched her lips together to prevent laughing. It was a challenge to live with two stubborn, strong-willed women, each wishing to be the overseer. Edith, in most situations, yielded to her mother's wishes and command, but in this case, since it was her husband's friends visiting, Edith rightly took control.

It was but a short walk from the Indian Court to the machinery. The display was loud, and crowded, with the steam engines blowing and the machinery in operation. Margaret watched in awe as the looms, they were called power looms, began to move with the help of two laborers. Mostly men attended this exhibit, surely more than had been in the Indian Court. Her eyes darted in all directions, taking in every aspect of the spectacle, fascinated with these machines of the British Industrial Empire.

"Amazing," she breathed aloud. She never imagined such contraptions were needed to create cotton. She felt so foolish, now, never fully understanding the multiple steps required for a simple dress. There was likely even more than she saw here, but this alone was incredible!

"This area is far too loud," Aunt Shaw whined, waving her handkerchief in front of her face. "If you three wish to stay, I shall meet you at the fountain, and then we shall retire for refreshments."

Margaret was disappointed, but not surprised by her aunt's lack of interest in the industrial functions of Britain.

"That is a fine suggestion, Mother." Edith caught Margaret's eye. "It may be a short time as there is so much to see. Perhaps in an hour?"

"Yes, that will be fine. Until then I will look elsewhere." Aunt Shaw nodded. "This eternal racket is not good for my senses." She tipped her nose up and sort of glided from the exhibit.

Once she was gone, Edith and Margaret laughed. "Oh, she is _so_ dramatic!" Edith imitated her mother's voice perfectly, causing Margaret to laugh even louder.

Then she heard _his_ voice. She quieted and hurriedly looked about the expansive, noisy room to see if it really was indeed Mr. Thornton, or simply someone else with a similar, sensual, Darkshire accent. She smiled when she spotted him. A group of men surrounded him, as if he were a politician making a speech, or in this case, and instructor of mechanical things.

As if in a trance, she was drawn closer to him. She wanted to hear his thoughts, learn more of who he was. This was no simple gentleman of the south. John Thornton was a man of industry, an innovator. He was a man who produced goods for consumption that the whole world, not just Britain needed.

"Technologically, we are the envy of the world. If only there was a mechanism to enable us all to live together, to take advantage of the great benefits from industry." He stopped with a sigh. "We can bring back marmosets from Mozambique, but we cannot stop man from behaving as he always has." 

"Is it the strikes, then?" a tall man from the crowd asked. "Can we not put an end to them?"

A frown marred his handsome face and he shook his head. "Not in my lifetime. But with time and patience, we might try to bleed them of their discontent."

That sounded rather harsh to Margaret's ears. She had read of the strikes in the north, of course, but the idea of _bleeding_ his workers? Surely he was not that severe?

As if sensing her presence he turned to his right, where she stood among the crowd of dark-suited men. Her heart skipped a beat as a wide smile slowly spread across his face. He immediately excused himself, seemingly indifferent to the men who continued to shout out questions for him.

She beamed as he moved to join her. She felt like a princess at the moment, that she was important enough to him that he should leave these possible investors to see _her_.

"Oh Margaret," Edith whispered. "He is _indeed_ a fine looking man."

Margaret smiled wider as Mr. Thornton joined them.

"Miss Hale!" He reached forward and took her hand. She expected him to place a kiss on it, but instead he squeezed and shook it gently before slowly pulling his own hand away, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. "I wondered if we would cross paths today. Mrs. Lennox, Captain Lennox, it is a pleasure to see you again."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Lord, but she looked beautiful today. And if the wide smile on her face told him anything, it was obvious she was happy to see him. Him! _John Thornton_ , a rough manufacturer from the North, a man with very little charisma or charm and even less experience with women.

"I worried we had missed each other," she said, meeting his gaze. "When you arrived, you were deep in conversation with another gentleman. I did not wish to interrupt, knowing your purpose in London."

His ego suddenly inflated. She had _not_ avoided him, as he initially worried. She even understood they he could not come to her the minute he found her, that he was conducting business. She was a treasure, indeed. Captain Lennox and his wife slowly eased away, giving them a bit a privacy.

"Yes, that particular gentleman is a possible investor." He looked away toward the men who were standing nearby still staring at him, wanting more information about the machinery. "He is the banker we had breakfast with this morning. There were a few points he wished to clarify."

Her smile suddenly knocked the words right out of his head. She had done something differently today with her looks, or maybe it was just the light color of her dress. Never had he encountered a more perfect looking woman. It was virtually inconceivable to imagine she was interested in him! Yet here she was, smiling at him, talking with him.

"And did you assuage his concerns?" she asked.

"His concerns?" Oh dear, he had to focus on her words too, not just her looks. He cleared his throat and tried to recall what they'd been discussing.

"The banker?" she prodded with a knowing grin.

"Yes." He sighed. She had his head spinning. "He will be visiting Milton in two weeks and we simply finalized his arrival."

"Thornton!" A boisterous voice interrupted their conversation. John turned to find George Watson, one of the mill men. "Miss Hale you are looking healthy today."

She giggled, a perfectly natural sound bubbling from her. What a delight! John smiled back and found himself laughing as well.

"Have I missed something?" Watson looked perfectly perplexed.

"No, sir, forgive me." Margaret shook her head and smiled. "I simply wondered if I looked _illish_ yesterday to look _healthy_ today."

"Oh. No, no, not a'tall, Miss Hale. Everything is quite as it should be." He cleared his throat and flushed. "I… um… wondered if Thornton here would like to meet another MP I just ran into?"

Watson said _MP_ so casually as if it was an everyday occurrence to meet a member of parliament.

"What say you, Miss Hale, would you care to join us?" The hell if he was going to lose her company now that he gained it! John extended his elbow, praying silently she accepted his invitation.

"Yes, I should be pleased to go with you!" She threaded her small hand under his arm before turning her head, looking about. "I must find my cousin and alert her."

"She's right over there." John pointed discretely to where Captain and Mrs. Lennox were studying an illustrated poster.

"That is the very direction we need to go," Watson said. "Come along, then."

Watson led the way. John was well satisfied to have the beautiful Margaret Hale on his arm. Afraid he might say or do something to lose her, he remained silent as they approached the Lennoxes.

He tipped his head to a few men he recognized from his earlier discussion near the power loom, and then they arrived where the Lennoxes were. Odd. Henry was not with them. John knew he'd seen him when he first arrived that morning. Where had he gone?

"Edith," Margaret began, "I've been invited to go with Mr. Thornton and Mr. Watson to meet some people." Margaret glanced up at him and back to Edith. "May I meet up with you later? Aunt Shaw is surely wondering where we have gone to."

"I can see you home, Miss Hale," John quickly suggested. It was perhaps a bit forward, but he did not wish to lose her company today. "The other mill men and I will be meeting at three near the fountain to depart."

She looked over her shoulder at him, surprise written on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Thornton." She grinned and turned back to her cousin. "Will you tell Aunt Shaw that I will be home later?"

"I say, Thornton," the young military captain broke in. "Mrs. Lennox and I are hosting several couples this evening. I served with the men on my last tour. Perhaps you would care to join us?"

John glanced down at Miss Hale for her reaction. She flushed, but smiled and nodded ever so slightly, encouraging him to accept. "Yes, I would like that," he answered firmly. "I have no other commitments this evening."

"Smashing!" Captain Lennox clapped John on the shoulder. "Mr. Watson you are welcome as well." He looked down at his wife. "Well, then, Mrs. Lennox, let us go and see what else is on display." He winked at John as he and his pretty bride left the area.

"The man is standing right over there." Watson spoke over the clanging machinery and waved at a grey haired, tall man.

He met them halfway. "Mr. Gibbons, this is the man I spoke with you about, Mr. John Thornton." Watson introduced them. "Thornton, please meet David Gibbons."

They exchanged a handshake. Gibbons studied him with his aged, beady eyes. John stood taller and tipped up his chin. Gibbons may hold an elected position, may deserve a certain amount of respect, but John was well respected in his own right and refused to be looked down upon by anyone.

"Mr. Watson tells me you and you and your other gentlemen from Milton have come to solicit support and financial backing for your mills." Gibbons crossed his arms against his chest and rested on his heels. "Tell me, are the mills of the north in such desperate straits?"

"Desperate? No!" John shook his head. What the hell had Watson told the man? "We _have_ suffered through a series of setbacks over the past two years, including strikes, which have indeed taken their toll on business development. The Milton financial market as a whole is in a bit of a decline at present." 

More men joined them, just as they had when he began to speak at the power loom. While he continued to speak of Milton's economy, Miss Hale let go of his arm, but she didn't move away. She watched him with a rather captivated look upon her face. Could she truly be interested in what he was saying, or was she simply too polite to leave?

"Investments in your mills will do what, precisely?" asked an unknown man from the crowd.

"It will stabilize the volatility of the cotton markets, maintain the jobs of hundreds of skilled and unskilled workers and soothe the entire economy of Milton. The majority of its residents, nearly eighty percent, in fact, rely on a mill of some sort for their daily bread. They have been striking for a larger wage, which cannot be provided at this time. With an influx of capital, many of the mills could expand, or at the very least bid for larger orders and indeed provide a higher wage."

"And you, Mr. Thornton," Gibbons glanced between John and Miss Hale, "Do you and your wife reside in a fancy mansion outside of the town, further exploiting the struggles of your workers."

"No." John's ire was rising, but he would not take the bait. "Conveniently, my home is on the grounds of the mill. It is just one of the many buildings I rent."

"So you do not own your mill?" Gibbons continued.

"I do not own the buildings." John's patience for this man's impertinence was growing thin. "The business, however, is mine."

Miss Hale wrapped her hand back under his arm and rested it on his forearm. Just that simple move relaxed him. Stunned by her comforting gesture, he looked down at her, and she smiled up, reassuring him. Somehow he knew at that moment he wanted her situated right there, on his arm, forever. How had she managed to wrap herself around his heart so quickly?

"Is this a speculation you are offering, Thornton?" It was the same man from the crowd who had asked a question earlier.

He frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but might I trouble you for your name?"

"Ah, apologies." The man stuck out his hand with a jolly smile. "I am Sir Gable Bertram from Scarborough. I'm here expressly for this very machinery exhibition."

"Indeed?" He asked. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Bertram. As to whether this is a speculation…" He shrugged. "While no investment is guaranteed, this is not the questionable business decision that speculations often are. I have specific needs to address with any funds that I receive, and I will share those ideas with my investors. The return will not be extraordinary, but in time, I believe you will receive far greater interest from my Marlborough Mills than if you were to place your money on reserve in a bank."

Sir Bertram's face turned thoughtful. "This may not be the best environment to speak of business." He glanced pointedly at the many men in the area. "Might you have time over the course of the next few days to meet?"

"I would be glad to meet with you." John nodded. "Tomorrow, perhaps?"

Sir Bertram turned out to be quite the character and after a few more moments exchanging small talk, and a few jokes that made John cringe with their stupidity, they made plans to meet for a meal at his hotel the following day.

"If you have no objections, I shall join you two as well," Gibbons invited himself. "Watson you should come, also. I'd be interested to learn more of the speculation you spoke of earlier."

"Certainly!" Watson agreed immediately. "Until tomorrow, then?"

When Gibbons and Bertram left, so too did the rest of the crowd, leaving John standing with just Watson and Miss Hale.

"Well, Thornton I will meet you and Miss Hale at the fountain at three sharp." Watson opened his pocket watch. "It's just 'alf-passed twelve now."

"We shall be there," John confirmed the time on his own watch.

"That's lovely," Miss Hale told him after Watson hurried away.

He glanced down at his timepiece. "It was my father's."

"He's passed?"

"He has, yes." He did not like talking about the man who left his family in despair. "Many, many years ago." In truth it felt like another life-time ago.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her hand tightened on his arm.

Her sincerity humbled him. "Your recent loss is much more difficult, I'm certain, Miss Hale. If it helps to know, it does get easier with time."

She smiled gently. "Thank you. I expect…" She looked away from him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. When she turned back to him, she wore a slight smile on her lips. "I hope you are right. Some days are still quite painful."

"Do you wish to talk about it?" John did not think he was the most considerate of men. When his younger sister threw her _fits_ he tried to ignore them, but somehow he understood Miss Hale needed someone to lean on, and he very much wanted to be that man.

"Not today, Mr. Thornton. Today I wish only to experience the very best of the British Empire." She smiled broadly and sniffed away her tears. "Do you mind sharing the day with me?"

"I would like nothing more," he admitted with frank honesty. "I am at your disposal, Miss Hale. What would you like to see?"

"Truly? You would allow me choose?" She appeared shocked.

He chuckled. "Yes, of course. That is to say, I would love to see it all, but I will allow the lady on my arm to make the final choice."

A lovely shade of pink spread across her cheeks. Oh, she was so very feminine and delicate. Not fragile, precisely, but definitely a lady in every sense of the word.

"Would you mind… that is…" she stumbled on her words. "Could we spend more time here?"

"In this exhibit?" He was sure his face expressed the shock he felt.

He had expected her to ask to see the Indian Court which so many raved about, or the stained glass or the photography or even the bed that flipped people out at a pre-set time. But instead, she wished to stay here?

"This is your world, is it not?" She continued, a bit steadier this time. "The world of Milton? If I am to move there, I should like to know what to expect." She tipped her chin up and steadily met his gaze. "Also, Mr. Thornton, I would like to know what is important to you." She looked down again, clearly embarrassed by her blunt admission.

If his chest puffed out any further he'd bust the buttons off his shirt! He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. In truth, since meeting this little lady he'd done more smiling than he had in the last ten years combined.

"This is indeed the world in which I live, day in and day out," he agreed.

"Oh! I should have thought better!" She frowned and shook her head. "Surely you do not wish to dwell here, since you see it each day? How selfish of me!"

"Nonsense, Miss Hale. I will gladly give you a bit of a tour and then we can move on." He gently patted her hand resting on his arm. He leaned forward as if telling her a secret. "I am getting a bit hungry. I understand the refreshment area has a nice variety."

"I was too excited to eat breakfast this morning," she admitted.

He wondered if it was excitement to see him again, or if her loss of appetite was from the possibilities at the exhibition. He didn't voice that question, but for him, the excitement today had been the opportunity to see her. The evening before had been one of the best of his life. She was a fine companion at the theater and dinner at her aunt's home.

"Today I will give you the brief explanation of the machines you see, and when you and your father come to Milton, you will be welcome for a full mill tour. How does that sound?"

"Perfect." When she smiled, her red lips formed an almost perfect bow shape. "Shall we?"

He nodded, and guided her back to the noisy machines. He could, of course, speak for hours on each and every machine, describing in fine and great detail the mechanisms that caused the parts of the machines to move and create the finest cloth in all the world. Surprisingly, however, Miss Hale did almost as much talking as he did over the course of the hour of the tour, asking questions and listening intently.

The impressive interest Miss Hale showed as they leaned against the steel rails overlooking one of the weaving machines was not false or contrived. He'd given the tour of his mill to several women over the years, women he thought he might like to have join his life. A few had feigned interest in his mill as means to gain or maintain his attentions. The vision of Ann Lattimer, his banker's fine daughter, flittered briefly through his head. He shook that away quickly. If the strikes had done nothing for business, they had clarified the position of people in his personal life. Once the mill shut down, and it appeared his fortunes had turned sour, Ann—and several others- had disappeared like a puff of smoke. When the mill was profitable again, they too returned. He did not need those sort of fair weather friends.

He knew instinctively Margaret Hale was not that sort of a woman.

"Have you any other questions, Miss Hale?" He smiled at her.

"My head is so full of information, Mr. Thornton!" She shook her head. "I am awe, truly, with all this equipment. And you have all of this, in one mill? In one building?"

"This and more." They did not have a carding machine on display. Nor the wheel that he had recently installed to remove the cotton fluff from the air. "The mill is several buildings connected."

"How many people do you employ?"

"Hundreds," he answered. "I have one paid overseer or manager, if you will, and I spend a considerable amount of time on the floor monitoring the operations." His mother enjoyed walking the floor also, but Miss Hale need not know that. Not yet, anyway.

"How long are your days?"

She did have questions! No one cared about such things except his mother occasionally. How exciting that Miss Hale seemed to be legitimately interested!

"The boiler is engaged at six in the morning, and generally is not put to rest until eight in the evening, giving us fourteen hours of power. Our days are shorter on Saturdays, when we close down at six and Sunday which we keep Holy for the Sabbath."

She nodded, her face a picture of deep contemplation. "You are a religious man, Mr. Thornton?"

He knew she was a vicar's daughter. She had surely been raised within that sphere of understanding and expectations. He had no reason to believe she was not a woman who followed and expected proprieties, and was glad of that. This however might be a loaded question, one which he must answer carefully, knowing she likely was quite religious.

"I attend services on Sundays. My mother, with whom I live, reads nightly from Matthew Henry's _Bible Commentaries._ She finds it's her duty to save my soul, along with the servants she requires to listen along."

She chuckled. "I suppose most mothers see that as part of their role." Her stomach growled. "Oh excuse me!" He hand flew to her mouth in embarrassment.

"I've kept you here too long." He pulled her hand back on his arm. "Come let us get some food."

"Oh, do not be concerned, Mr. Thornton. This is all so very interesting to me. I would have regretted not experiencing this." She met his gaze. "Especially with you." She looked away, but he could see a small smile playing at the edge of her lips.

After ordering and receiving their overpriced food, they chose a table toward the back of the crowded refreshment area to sit. From their vantage point, they could see the locomotives and watch people as they wandered through the large meeting area. It intrigued him the variety of clothing and skin colors of people visiting the exhibit.

"Thank you for lunch," she said before taking a sip of her lemonade.

"My pleasure." He reclined on his chair and stretched out his long legs, holding his coffee cup on his knee. "So, tell me, Miss Hale, who will I be meeting this evening at the party?"

For the next ten minutes he was entirely captivated by the expressions that crossed her face as she told tales of the couples who would be at the Shaw home that evening. He longed to reach out and take her hand in his, or push away the wispy tendril of curly brown hair hanging in front of her eye. In all honesty, he could sit and stare at her all day, if given the honor. When she had described the six couples, he could hold back his curiosity no longer.

"And Henry Lennox? Will he be there?" He couldn't help himself from asking. "I saw him earlier when I first arrived at the exhibition, yet later, he was not with you."

She did not answer right away, and he waited patiently. Perhaps he should not have brought up the topic.

"We had a falling out," she finally answered, staring at her folded hands. "I am not certain whether he will be with us this evening or not."

"A falling out?" He prodded gently, leaning forward and resting his mug back on the small table between them.

She sighed, glanced up and then looked away from John, her cheeks becoming pink. In a lowered voice, she asked, "Do you remember last night when you asked if he and I had an understanding?"

"I do." He took a sip of his coffee, covering the emotions that were surely crossing his face. Of course he remembered asking! He remembered every second about the night before.

"I took the opportunity to tell him, perhaps too bluntly, that I did not have any emotional attachment to him." She wouldn't look at John. "Henry became rather angry and left our group. I'm not certain where he may have gone, but he left us while we were in the Indian Court."

He nodded, pleased with the information. He did not like the idea of competition for her attentions, much less from someone seen as a _gentleman_.

"Miss Hale." He swallowed. "If I have a chance this evening, I would very much like to talk with your father."

She nodded. "I'm certain he will be at home. He didn't wish to come along today, although Aunt Shaw and I both encouraged him to join us. I'm sure he would enjoy having a visit with you. He is interested in many things, and Science and inventions fascinate him, particularly."

"No…" John cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "I fear you misunderstand." He waited until she met his eyes before he continued. "Miss Hale, I would be quite honored…" He swallowed and took a deep breath. "I wish to speak with your father about a courtship. That is if you would welcome my continued attentions?"

"I see." A whoosh of air escaped her lips and then she chuckled nervously. "I would very much like to get to know you better, Mr. Thornton. I am quite flattered that you want to spend some of your valuable time with me while you are in London."

"Beyond my stay in London, Miss Hale." How he wished to touch her!

"Oh." Her mouth created a perfect 'o.' "Yes, I suppose so. Otherwise you would not need to ask for my father's approval."

"I wish to do things properly." He nodded firmly so she would understand he was determined. "I want him to know I am honorable in my intentions toward you."

"You already have intentions toward me?" Her eyes were wide, but her expression was pleased. 

He smiled. "Oh yes, Miss Hale, I do. I do indeed."


	7. Chapter 7

"Sholto, you cannot be my partner. You know the rules." Edith slapped her husband's hand away as the couples were pairing up for their evening of Whist. She was a bit vexed as two extra couples joined the party without prior notice. Edith feared they would be short of refreshments, although Margaret knew full well Cook would never allow that to happen.

"Well then, Margaret, will you do me the honor of being my partner?" Captain Lennox asked with a bow and teasing smile. "It seems my wife has chosen to partner with your dear father this evening."

"I would be very pleased." She smiled at the captain. "And you _do_ know the rules, sir." She winked at him and then chuckled when he flushed. At the Shaw home, married couples could not compete together, lest there be cheating.

It was no great misfortune to partner him. He was a fine player, quite competitive. She usually won when they paired. She would rather have him than any of the other men there that evening. She sighed and glanced about the spacious drawing room at Harley Street.

Mr. Thornton had yet to make his appearance, and Margaret was becoming a bit concerned. When he and had dropped her earlier at home, following their shared afternoon at the Exhibition, he seemed quite well, even excited about this gathering. Perhaps he had second thoughts about speaking with her father? Had she done something to offend him? She doubted it. He had been quite happy when they parted ways.

After their lunch, they had toured the areas of the Exhibition he most wanted to see, the daguerreotypes and stained glass specifically. She knew should could, and would, return another day, but he would soon be headed home to Milton. Therefore, she wanted him to do as he pleased. And even if she toured every day until the Exhibition closed, she doubted she would see everything they had on display. It was a truly a magnificent work of British greatness.

Mr. Thornton spoke of his family, his mother and sister, and a bit of his Milton cotton operation known as Marlborough Mills. She had loved just watching him speak. His eyes were intense, and although his manner was rather stiff, he was enjoyable company. It was clear he was proud of all he had built, and showed that in his interaction with interested parties as they recognized him. She sensed a reluctance from him to go too in depth, too personal, with her, but she hoped in time he would. The whole of the afternoon they were no more than a few feet apart from one another, and not once was it odd or uncomfortable.

In fact, she had been called _Mrs. Thornton_ in greeting not once, but twice as they wandered through the exhibits. She had wondered why he never bothered to correct the gentlemen they stopped to speak with, but did not ask him directly. She liked being with the man from the north, was rather tickled, really, that she should be mistaken for his wife. What an honor that would be!

Although she hoped nothing serious had detained Mr. Thornton, she was frustrated with the man. This was the second time that day she had been forced to wait for his arrival. She wondered if this was his habit, being late. It would not do if it was. Punctuality was something she prided herself on.

Before she sat at the assembled card tables, she pushed aside the lace curtains to see if anyone, well _Mr. Thornton_ , was coming. It had started to rain, but surely that would not have detained him. Margaret appreciated that something unexpected may have come up. He was in London for business, after all, not games of cards. She just wished she knew!

Henry Lennox was the other missing gentleman. His absence was not felt as keenly, however. In fact, it would be quite pleasant to have an evening without the need to evade Henry's attention. Since the arrival of the mill men of the north, Henry had turned quite obnoxious in his pursuit. She had been honest with Mr. Thornton at the theater that first night. She and Henry would never marry. She would rather die a poor spinster.

She righted the curtains and then joined Captain Lennox's table, thanking him as he pulled out her chair. He sat directly across from her. Two men joined them, and soon they were playing the game she knew as well as her own name. It was the first game her mother and father had ever taught her, and when she and her brother Fred were little, the four of them played almost every night.

She swallowed back a moan as she played the next card. Frederick… Her brother had just written her. Of course, he now went by an alias, no longer known as Frederick Hale. He was so happy in Cadiz, and continually tried, even more since their mother's death, to convince Margaret to come to join him. He did not know of their father's defection from the church yet, would likely be shocked when she wrote of it the following day. Perhaps she would save that for her father to tell him?

In this last letter, Frederick spoke of a Catholic girl called Dolores, he wished to marry. To do so, he would need to convert to her religion, though, and he was uncertain he was prepared to do such a thing. He spoke in rather glowing terms of her, and her family. It would be so good for him to find happiness. Margaret missed him terribly, especially since her mother's passing. The thought she may never see him again weighed heavily on her heart.

Mr. Thornton had spoken so freely and openly of his family. He respected his mother, spoke of her in the most glowing of terms. His sister he had described as flighty, but Margaret could sense his true affection for Fanny, who was just Margaret's age. Would they accept her as easily and enthusiastically as he had? What would happen when she told Mr. Thornton of her brother's indiscretions? He was a wanted fugitive, for heaven's sake! Perhaps she would not need to speak of him. At least not for quite some time.

"Well done, Margaret!" the captain clapped. "We have smoked them!"

She grinned, although neither her heart nor mind was in the game. The noises from other tables, the talk among the men at their very table was going over hear head. She was so preoccupied with thoughts from earlier that day. Thoughts of _him_. How could she be so captivated so quickly?

At the start of the game, the captain has designated their table as the head winner's table, assuming he and Margaret would continue their winning streak. After the other tables concluded their games, people shifted, and soon her father and Edith joined them. They had also won, so this would be a play-off of sorts.

"You will lose this one, Margaret. You just wait!" Edith stuck out her tongue.

Margaret chuckled, although as the cards were passed out and played, she became more and more disappointed. She had only known Mr. Thornton for a full day, but the time they had spent together had been quite extraordinary. Together, they had packed so many enjoyable experiences in such a short time. She felt as if she had known Mr. Thornton for years.

And yet, he was not there as he promised he would be.

Margaret turned quickly as the door to the drawing room opened. She took a sharp breath and smiled with excitement, expecting Mr. Thornton's handsome form to appear in the doorway. When Henry Lennox came through the door instead, slicking back his rain soaked locks, she turned away, hiding her disappointment behind her wineglass.

"He will come," Edith whispered, patting Margaret's hand. "He will come."

"Am I so obvious?" Margaret chuckled.

"To me," Edith answered.

Margaret nodded, and soon graciously accepted their loss to Edith and her father.

"Get your head in the game, lass!" Captain Lennox chastised, gentling his rebuke with his dazzling smile.

"Next one, I promise."

"Why are we bothering to go, Thornton?" Watson asked. His nasally voice always disturbed John, but with the extra whine, it was far worse. "We are quite late already."

John had debated with himself repeatedly that very question before deciding to hire a carriage outside of White's Gentlemen's club in St. James Place to transport them to Harley Street. He told Miss Hale he would attend the card party and by all that was holy he would!

That afternoon, after his _incredible_ afternoon with Miss Margaret Hale at the Exhibition, John had a note from Sir Gable Bertram waiting for him at their hotel. The baronet was anxious to meet with John, to learn more about the mills and the plans John had for any money that was invested. John knew he had to strike while the irons were hot. To delay might mean the man would change his mind, and he could not afford that.

So, the three of them, John, Watson and Bertram spent two hours at the exclusive White's discussing the ins and outs of the mill business. Finally, when the conversation had reached an end, John discreetly studied his pocket watch, distressed how late the hour had grown. In truth, he could ramble on for days about his mill. He loved his occupation, but his enthusiasm for business had cost him valuable courting time with Miss Hale. What a conundrum!

Because of the meeting, however, Sir Bertram had agreed to come to Milton to tour Marlborough Mills in ten days' time, to make the final arrangements for his initial investment. Just as many men of this time, Bertram was waffling between investing in railroads and industry. Unlike many men, he had the financial wherewithal to put a little in each. When John had named the sum he was hoping to receive from investors, Bertram did not even blink.

Hopefully, Miss Hale would excuse his tardiness. John did not make a habit of being late. Indeed, he was far more likely to be early for an engagement. The whole time here in London, however, he had been running behind. It started when he had been forced to take a later train to get here. Then, due to the length of a morning breakfast meeting, he arrived at the Exhibition later than anticipated, and now he was late to the card party at the Shaw's home. His character, his very fortitude was being tested, and although it would probably be quite rude to show up so late to the party, he was going to, damn it! He would not disappoint Miss Hale… or himself.

"Remember, Watson, London hours are far different than the work hours we keep in Milton," he reminded the older man. He glanced out the window at the darkened night. "I imagine we will be arriving just as the party is picking up steam." He hoped, anyway.

"You going to bang her, then?" Watson chortled.

" _Bang her_?" Wide-eyed, John's head snapped to the idiot. This was the man that wanted to court his sister? John looked back the window without saying another word. _Damned_ _fool_.

"She might let you have a go at it if you tried even just a little bit." Watson snorted. "She seems to have an eye for you, Thornton."

If Watson thought he was being helpful, he was quite mistaken.

"Can you not see what a woman of quality she is?" Disgust colored John's quietly spoken words.

"That don't mean she don't want a little tickle to her fanny," Watson said with another chuckle.

 _Speaking of Fanny…_

Even if Fanny _would_ consent to a courtship with the daft idiot, John would never allow it. It was clear Watson's opinion of women was quite low. Margaret was everything fine and decent. His sister, Fanny, despite being a bit fickle and capricious most days, was a well-bred young lady deserving of a man's respect, not indecent expectations. John was no longer convinced Watson understood the different types of women, or perhaps how to respect _any_ women. If he did, he never would have suggested what he had.

"'Sides, if she's such a hoity-toity lass, what the hell would she want with a bloke like you?"

Woe to admit it, Watson did have a point. When Margaret came to the north, saw what the world of Milton, his world, was really like, would she stay? It was so very different from how she describe her beautiful, pastoral Helstone. It was different from the London life she lived when on Harley Street where she hobnobbed with only the finest folk. What would her reaction be when she saw the decrepit, dirty, shoddy back-to-back houses where his workers lived? It was his life, he was proud of all he had accomplished, but how would such a fine lady react?

John took a deep breath as the carriage pulled to a halt near the well-lit home of Mrs. Shaw, lest he slam Watson in the face for his insolence. At the moment, John was far more concerned what sort of reaction he would face from Miss Hale. She had every right to snub him, but he hoped she would instead be understanding; realize his time in London was tied primarily to business, and while he wanted to be with her, he must keep focused on the primary motive of his trip.

He and Watson alighted from the carriage. There were half a dozen other carriages parked along the road. John could not say whether they were all parked in wait for occupants at the Shaw's home, or nearby townhouses.

He was first to the door, dodging the raindrops. He pounded the knocker and waited impatiently for the butler to open the grand door. Watson eventually caught up and they were admitted into the fine Shaw home. As he handed off his hat and gloves and coat, laughter and deep male voices could be heard streaming from the drawing room.

He waited to be announced, and immediately sought the face of Miss Hale. She was seated at the far corner of the room, at a table with Henry and his brother, the captain, and another woman John was not acquainted with. She looked up when she saw him, but then, nearly immediately, focused her attention back at the game.

What had he expected?

Mrs. Lennox was quick to greet him and Watson and soon her husband was standing next to her. "I am glad you could make it, Thornton." Lennox shook his hand. "Perhaps, Mr. Watson you would like to take my place at the table with Miss Hale. Mr. Thornton, my wife would be pleased to give up her seat as well. She is partnered with Mr. Hale."

A waiter was quick to bring them wine. "Yes, that sounds fine." He took one more longing glance at Miss Hale, frustrated when she looked immediately away again, and smiled at something Henry Lennox said. Were they talking about him?

John walked to the table where Mr. Hale was waiting. The gentlemen stood as he approached. After shaking hands with the three, he took his seat. In his occupation there was little time for card playing, but he did know Whist; at least well enough to not embarrass himself.

"So, Mr. Thornton," Mr. Hale asked as soon as John was holding cards. "Why were you detained this evening?"

John suddenly felt like a naughty boy caught stealing cookies from the kitchen. Mr. Hale's blunt question, accompanied by his pointed stare, unnerved John. If he had doubted the clergyman would succeed as the headmaster at the boy's school, Mr. Hale had just proven him wrong.

"A gentleman Miss Hale and I met this afternoon at the Exhibition asked that Watson and I meet him at his club to discuss business," he said. He was hesitant to say more with the strangers at the table.

Mr. Hale played his card and took the trick, with a grin John didn't quite understand.

"Do you make a habit of being tardy?" Mr. Hale asked.

John closed his eyes and chuckled. Again, he felt all of twelve, being chastised for his behavior. "I do not," he answered firmly. "I fear I got rather carried away with my explanations."

"I see." Mr. Hale nodded. He stared at him. "See to it, Mr. Thornton, you provide _very few_ disappointments in the future."

John well understood the veiled threat. Not a threat really, but a fatherly concern. "Yes, sir." He smiled to himself and glanced in the direction of the lady to whom they referred. Miss Hale wore her hair partly down that evening, with the long curls, trailing over her bare right shoulder. Lord, she was vision of loveliness. How was he already besotted? "I shall do my very best."

John took the next card trick and soon the first game was through with a win on their record. As other tables were finishing their hands, John listened half-heartedly to the discussion swirling around him and sipped on his wine. He studied the decorations of the ostentatious room, comparing its clutter to the rather austere drawing room at Marlborough Mills, discretely watching Miss Hale in the process. He could not seem to take his eyes off her, proper or not. He didn't wish to, either. He did wish it was _him_ sitting at the table and _not_ Henry Lennox. Perhaps had he not been delayed, John would have had the privilege to be her partner.

In addition to the hosts, twenty people were there for the card party. Watson seemed relaxed, visiting with Captain Lennox and the two women at his table.

Miss Hale finally looked at him. She was a distance away, but he could see she was less than pleased with him, a frown marred her perfect face. John hoped she would accept his explanation as her father had. Regardless, he would do his utmost to make up for his late arrival.

"Ladies and gentleman!" Captain Lennox called out. "Please come and procure for yourself some of the lovely treats my wife has had our cook prepare!" With a wide wave of his hand, Captain Lennox called everyone's attention to the table being set up with refreshments. "Following our refreshment break, Mrs. Travers," he nodded toward a young red-headed woman, "has kindly offered to play the piano so we might have some dancing."

John, along with the others, stood. Unlike the others, however, he was not intent on reaching the sweets table, but instead reaching a sweet _woman_. Henry beat him to her, of course, and instead of causing a scene, John decided he would wait for his turn.

"Are you hungry, Mr. Thornton?" Mr. Hale had come up along his side. "My niece has compiled a table of extensive choices."

"So it would seem." He frowned, watching how familiarly Henry interacted with Miss Hale. He reminded himself of the conversation from the theater the night before and their discussion this very afternoon. Lennox might want her, but the feeling was not reciprocated. "Might you and I have a short conversation instead?"

"Certainly!" Mr. Hale perked up. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Is there somewhere…" John looked around, "more private?"  
"Private?" Suddenly, Hale's face cleared in understanding. "Oh, I see. Yes, of course. Let us go across the hall into Mrs. Shaw's study."

John hazard another glanced toward Margaret, pleased when she looked back with a curious expression on her face, as he followed Mr. Hale from the room.

"You baked these for me, did you not?" Henry took two cherry tarts and placed them on his plate.

"No." Margaret shook her head. "Edith asked the cook to do so."  
"Ah yes, you were at the Exhibition all day." He placed a few more items on his plate before moving down the table. "And, did Mr. Bell take good care of you this afternoon? If not, Margaret, I shall have to speak with him."

She frowned. "Mr. Bell?" _Have to speak with him?_ Was he serious?

"Yes," Henry took a bite of one of the tarts. "Your Aunt Shaw said you remained behind with Mr. Bell."

Why had her aunt lied? Perhaps that was the story Edith told her? Dear Edith.

"I was not with Mr. Bell," Margaret admitted. She reached for a lemon biscuit. "I spent the whole of the afternoon in the company of Mr. Thornton."

"Thornton, eh?" Henry made an odd sound from the back of his throat. "I suppose you had arranged that while you were with him at the theater? Is that why you spoke so harshly to me in the Indian Court?"

She stepped from the treat table and glanced at the door, wondering what was taking her father and Mr. Thornton so long. She had a good idea what the two men were speaking of.

"I was honest with you, Henry, not harsh. No matter how I have tried to explain my feelings…" She shook her head and looked away from him. She did not wish to hurt him. "Henry… you must… you must look elsewhere."

"What does Thornton have that I do not?" he hissed. He grabbed her arm, his fingers painfully biting into her. "Do we not have a friendship? Is that not the most solid basis for marriage? Have I no chance?"

Her eyes closed slowly, pained. _Marriage_ was the word she never wished to hear from his mouth, at least in respect to her.

"Henry, please do not continue," she begged, pulling her arm away. "I cannot do this again." She walked away from him, toward the Edith who stood near the door.

"Is that all you are hungry for, Margaret?" Edith asked with a chuckle. "There is plenty of food, you know." Edith looked back at the table. "I made certain of that."

"Yes, of course," Margaret answered, faking a smile. She was a bit shaken by her conversation with Henry. With her free hand, she rubbed her arm, certain he'd left bruises.

"Are you well?" Edith touch her hand.

"Yes, I am quite well." Another lie.

Edith leaned forward. "You should be pleased. Mr. Thornton has come." The door opened just then, as if on cue. "Ah, he was with your father, I wondered where he had disappeared to."

Margaret watched him walk toward her, her pulse increasing as he neared. He was such a handsome man, so regal and stately in his bearing. She had been proud to be on his arm that afternoon, to share the Exhibition with him.

"Good evening, Miss Hale." His voice, deep like a warm blanket, enveloped her.

"Mr. Thornton." Margaret dipped her head in greeting. "It's good of you to come."

"I was pleased to be able to." He cleared his throat and turned to Edith. "It's a fine party, Mrs. Lennox. I appreciate being included."

"Of course." Edith glowed at the compliment.

She gave Edith a glance, hoping her cousin would understand she needed to leave them.

"Oh! Well, I must circulate. Please enjoy your evening, Mr. Thornton." She bobbed her blonde head and left them alone.

He cleared his throat again. "I was late. I offer you my most sincere apologies," he said. His eyes were warm, tender even as he asked forgiveness. "I was detained this evening by Sir Bertram."

"Oh? You met with him?"

"I did." He nodded. The waiter paused next to them, offering more wine. John handed her one when she nodded and took one for himself. She did as well. "After I left you… Miss Hale, you must know how much I enjoyed our time together today."

She nodded, a slight smile curving up the edge of her lips. "I did as well."

"Good." His smile widened. "Very good." He took a sip of wine. "There was an invitation to Sir Bertram's gentleman's club for drinks after dinner. Watson and I both went."

"Was it a good meeting?" She hoped it was, even though it forced his late arrival.

"Yes, quite." He took another sip, his eyes never leaving her face. "He will be coming to Milton to tour the mill in ten days."

"Ten days? You will be leaving that soon?" she asked. They had just found one another!

"Sunday, I must depart." _Five days_? "I cannot be away longer than that."

She looked away. "I see."

Work would come first, of course. That was the main reason for his trip to London. Somehow she had thought he would set aside his responsibilities for a bit longer, just so they might become better acquainted, but it seemed he could—or would— not.

"Are you angry with me, then?" he asked quietly.

"No… that is, I _was_." She shook her head to straighten out her thoughts. "I was disappointed you were not on time. I thought we have a fixed engagement which you carelessly overlooked."

He paused before he spoke, likely determining how to say what he must. "You know of my priorities, Miss Hale." His voice had turned from smooth as silk to harsh in mere seconds. "I am sorry I was not here as planned, but business must take precedence."

Was he claiming this would always be true? Likely so. He was a manufacturer, a busy man of daily labor. How different his world was from that of Henry and Captain Sholto Lennox! They were men of leisure, who worked when they chose to or in the irregular times when they were called upon to serve. Mr. Thornton kept strict hours, consistent with the operation of his business. Where would a woman fit in? Likely that was the reason he was still unwed at his age. What woman would like to be second to work?

When she remained silent, he continued. "I spoke with your father."

"Yes, I saw you leave together." She quirked a brow. "Was it about me?"

"Yes." He remained formal in his speech and stance, so very different from their afternoon together. "Among other things."

"Other things?" she asked.

Footmen and the butler suddenly entered the drawing room intent to move the card tables aside for the dancing. Did Mr. Thornton dance? She knew Mrs. Travers like to play music to waltz to. Mr. Travers was lame from an undisclosed military accident, and she was a classically trained pianist in America, so it was no great hardship on her part to play for as long as Edith wished.

"Yes. I asked your father if we, that is _he and I_ , might read together," he said. "I learned he was proficient in the classics and languages, something I had great interest in as a younger man. You see Miss Hale, before my father died I attended a boarding school where I began to learn such things. I would like to recommit to my studies."

"I see." She hid her disappointment with a smile. It was good he was interested in bettering himself, was it not?

"Perhaps you can join us on such occasions?" he asked.

"Yes, perhaps." She nodded. Another activity standing between herself and time with Mr. Thornton. She would be competing for time against her own father! How ridiculous.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," she lied. "You should socialize, Mr. Thornton. Some of the men here are interested in investing matters, or, so Captain Lennox mentioned to me at dinner."

She moved to walk away, to dismiss him, really, but he quickly touched her elbow and pulled her back to him.

"Are you not curious what else I spoke about with your father?"

She shrugged. Of course she was, but she was also very confused.

"You _are_ unwell." He squeezed her hand before dropping his at his side.

"No, sir. I am _quite_ well." She sighed and looked to see who was in ear shot. She lowered her voice and met his steady gaze. "I am simply coming to understand that should I wish to spend time with you, I must create an appointment of some sort. Between your work duties and commitments, your family and now even my father, I am not certain you will be able to carve out time for me. Excuse me."

She walked away, her head held high, feeling as if she had just fallen from a mountain top of joy to the lowest depths of the ocean in despair. She was not a person who need constant or even persistent attention. That was Edith. But to be pushed aside was not acceptable.

"Miss Hale." He stopped directly behind her at the piano. She heard him sigh. "Please look at me."

She turned sideways to look at him, her body leaning against the piano.

"I have never had a… love interest." His Adam's apple bobbed as he whispered the last bit. "This will take some changes on my part. I ask for your forbearance and patience."

"This?" she asked, looking cautiously into his face.

"You and I." He rested his hands next to hers on the piano. "What we might share."

"I see."

"Your father has granted permission for me to court you. Now, and later when you and he arrive in Milton." He shifted slightly, his hip leaning against the piano, his elbow resting on top. "I asked to read with him not only to better myself, but to spend time with you, and him. To become part of your life."

"Oh." How she had misjudged him! She could not look away from his eyes. They were the loveliest shade of blue this evening, warm and affectionate.

"Have you changed your mind from this afternoon," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "or are we still to see if we will suit?"

"Yes. I mean, no," she shook her head with a frown. "I have not changed my mind about you. Not in the least. I very much wish to know you better."

Mrs. Travers began playing. But, they remained staring at one another. A smile slowly crossed his face. "I am pleased to hear that, Miss Hale. Very pleased, indeed."

Couples found partners on the makeshift dancefloor and Margaret looked up to him, questioning without words if he wish to stand with her.

"Shall we share the first dance?" he asked, extending his hand.

"Can northern manufacturers dance?" she teased.

He grinned. "This one can. And Miss Hale, I am the _only_ northern manufacturer you should be concerned with."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Miss Hale, Mr. Thornton is here to see you," Sally, the maid, announced John Thornton, the Master of Marlborough Mills' much anticipated arrival and then left the study at Harley Street with a quick curtsy.

Margaret glanced at the clock, pleased and a bit surprised that Mr. Thornton was not only on time, but actually _early_ for their outing back to the _Exhibition_. She had been so excited to see him, had been pacing until finally sitting down only moments earlier to await his arrival. She stood, and shook the wrinkles from her new skirts. She wore a dress chosen by Cousin Edith, who declared it flattered her light colored skin and dark hair. Margaret hoped her appearance pleased her companion as well.

Mr. Thornton, impeccably dressed as ever, in a fine, dark frockcoat and navy blue waistcoat stepped around the door jamb, a charming, smile on his handsome face. In his hands, he carried a bouquet of roses.

"Hello," he said softly, the huge smile lighting up his face. He continued to walk forward and when they reached each other, he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "Are you well?"

"I am." She nodded, but refused to give up his hand, instead intertwining her fingers with his much longer ones. Forward? Perhaps. But, she was ready to get this courting business fully underway. If she had only four days left with him in London, she had to make good use of her time! "Are those for me?" No one had ever given her flowers before.

"Of course." He took on a serious tone. "However, being a man of business, I would like to suggest a fair trade for them."

"Is that right?" she asked. She met his steady, challenging gaze with a slight smile. "And how, pray, might I repay such a kind gesture?"

His eyes darkened and voice dipped an octave lower. "Can you not think of a way?" He raised his dark brows and waited for her to react.

"Hmmm. What about this…" She stepped up on her tiptoes, intent on kissing his cheek, but he surprised her by turning his face just in time for her lips to land squarely upon his.

It was far more intense than she ever could have imagined! Such wonderful sensations! Oh, and what a fine kiss it was. Heat spread through her body as his hand gently cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer to him. He tasted of sugar and spice and gracious, it was nice.

Flushed, as if it were the middle of a hot summer day, she stepped back. Embarrassed, she could not quite meet his eyes. That did not faze him, however. He placed his long fingers under her chin and tipped her face up so she had to look at him.

"You'll not be so uncomfortable every time I kiss you, will you?" he whispered. Her eyes widened as he bent and kissed her lightly, as if a mere feather had touched her. "That would hardly do, Miss Margaret Hale."

"I suppose I might become accustomed to it," she teased. In truth it was becoming an addiction. "But you see, Mr. John Thornton, these are my very first kisses."

"Ever?" he asked.

"Yes." Her gazed darted to the floor again. How embarrassing!

"How especially honored I am, madam, that you should allow me such a privilege."

He handed her the flowers. Tied with a red ribbon were four roses; one white, one lavender, one orange and one pink. "Miss Hale, for you." He bowed. "I believe we have made a fine trade, indeed."

"They are lovely, Mr. Thornton." She buried her nose in the bouquet to smell them. "I do not believe I have ever seen such colors of roses?" She looked at him questioningly. "Orange and purple? These must have been very dear indeed!"

"If they please you, then it is my pleasure." He tipped his head toward her another grin teasing the edges of his lips. "The colors do have a significance, but perhaps we can discus that at a later time? Mr. Bell is waiting for us in his carriage."

"Oh?" She expected it to be only the two of them. "Mr. Bell is coming with us today?"

"Yes, indeed." He squeezed her hand. "He will be going back to Oxford tonight and hoped to see the _Exhibition_ once more before he left. He's escorting us in his very fine carriage today."

Before Mr. Thornton had left the night before, after the card party and dancing had concluded, he asked to spend this afternoon with Margaret. He had a morning meeting today and another that evening, but he was able to schedule nearly four glorious hours to spend with her. Margaret thought they would be spent alone, though.  
"Well, we should go!" she said. "It will not do to keep Mr. Bell waiting." She shifted the flowers from one hand to the other and found her reticule that had been sitting on the table near the door of the study. "I believe I am quite ready to go."

Before they left the room, he quickly grabbed her hand.

She smiled at him and laced her fingers with his, once again,

"Perhaps one more kiss?" he suggested.

She flushed and looked at their joined hands. "My goodness, I must be quite good at it if you wish for another?"

"Practice makes perfect, Miss Hale," he said, grinning. He pulled her close and she did not shy away. He placed her free hand on the lapel of his frockcoat, just above his heart. "And, I am more than willing to practice with you until we have it just perfect."

"That sounds like a challenge." She chuckled, but quickly looked away from his intense stare.

"Perhaps." He dipped his head so they were eye to eye. "Are you prepared for such an experiment?"

She nodded and met his intense gaze. "No time like the present to begin, I should say."

This kiss was not soft, but the fingers that caressed her jaw were. He teased her mouth open, shocking her. Wide-eyed, she pulled back with a gasp.

"Forgive me. I went too far." He stepped away.

"No…" She pulled him close again and looked directly into his eyes. "Is that…" she cleared her throat. "Is that how couples kiss?" Her voice sounded think. She was so embarrassed to be so inexperienced. "With their mouths open in such a way?"

He smiled softly and squeezed her hand. "Yes. Sometimes," he answered. "I should have waited until you were more familiar with me."

"I think I liked it," she admitted quietly, and then darted her eyes to the floor. Admitting such a thing was scandalous! _Wasn't it?_

"If you only _think_ you enjoyed it, we definitely must practice more." He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers and tipped her head up again. "Come, let us go before I impose myself upon you again."

"You did not _impose_ , Mr. Thornton." He clearly was not offended by her advances! She pressed on. "Do recall, it was _I_ that first kissed _you_."

She winked cheekily at him and then wearing a silly smile, walked through the still open door of the study to reach the front of the house where the butler was silently waiting to see them out. She handed the older man her flowers and asked that he have Sally find a vase for them. By the time she went through the door, she was floating on air, fully looking forward to more practicing!

"Ah Margaret! How fine you look today, my dear."

Mr. Bell kissed Margaret's hand as John assisted her into Mr. Bell's awaiting carriage. He was secretly glad the older man was chaperoning them that afternoon. John was not certain he could maintain proprieties if left alone with Miss Hale. The kisses they shared thus far had affected him far more than he wanted to acknowledge. The realization that she had enjoyed it as much as he… well, truly, that made matters far more difficult for him. He was the experienced one, the elder of the two and must act prudently. It would not due to compromise her, even if they were courting.

A pang of jealousy flared through his veins as she kissed the elder man's cheek. John wished he already had such familiarity with her! Just the freedom to call her _Margaret_ would be pleasing. He just had to bide his time. Although he had only four days remaining in London, he knew, well, he _hoped_ the time she spent with him in Milton would be sufficient to move their courtship ahead. Milton! Oh how excited he was to show her his world, introduce her to his mother and sister and his life as a mill master.

"How kind of you to join us today, Mr. Bell," she said with a wide, perfect smile. Indeed, everything about her was perfect. "I did not get to speak with you at all yesterday at the _Exhibition_." The carriage jostled to life. "I did see you, though."

"Yes, I suppose you might have seen us when we first arrived. I think I caught sight of Mrs. Lennox's bright blonde head. I should have made the attempt to find you, Margaret, but knew you were in good hands." Bell nodded toward John. "We are headed straight away to collect the lady I was with yesterday. Mr. Thornton met her, but you did not, and I should like you to. Her name is Hortense McMillian, and she will be pleased to know you."

"She is a _friend_ of yours, Mr. Bell?" Miss Hale teased. Such rapport these two had!

"That she is. That she is." Bell nodded, his perfectly coiffed gray hair not moving a bit. "Her husband I were quite close in our younger days and now that he is gone… Well, she and I have renewed our acquaintance."

"How lovely."

Miss Hale's face lit up with delight. She cared for the old man, it was obvious in everything she did and said. Mr. Hale said Bell was her godfather, had been his best friend for many decades. Not having ever wed, Bell thought of Miss Hale as his surrogate daughter and enjoyed coddling and pampering her.

"What do you wish to see today that we did not yesterday, Miss Hale?" John asked. He felt a little left out of the conversation. "I am pleased you consented to join us, as it is one of the _shilling_ days."

"Mr. Thornton that was my aunt's concern. Not mine." She smiled at him and then glanced to Mr. Bell. "I like all sorts of people. I wish to know people of _all_ types. My life here in London has been so very sheltered. I believe that is one of the reasons I am looking forward to venturing north with my father."

John did not miss the sly glance she threw his way. He sat a bit straighter, a sense of pride knowing she was looking forward to being with _him_ also. How had he gotten so lucky to meet this lass?

"Margaret, you will find people of rather varied societies in Milton." Mr. Bell fixed John with a curious glance. "Mr. Thornton is among the first families, of course, but those he employs are _not_. Indeed, my dear, you will see many of them come from rather… strained financial backgrounds."

"I see," she answered.

John watched as she digested the information Mr. Bell was giving her. In a way he was quite thankful the other man was preparing Miss Hale for the difference she would find in Milton. Had she been exposed to poverty and deprivation while here in London, or while at Helstone? Likely not, at least not at the level she would encounter in his hometown. She looked at him, perhaps looking for an explanation of what he knew of the situation? He took up the yoke.

"Mr. Bell is quite correct," John agreed with a curt nod. "There is a vast disparity between the societies in Milton, Miss Hale. Although it is likely no different here in London, you will see the differences quite readily in Milton where people of all ilks interact daily with one another. While I pay the highest wages I possibly can, many people are not able to flourish, and as in many of lower societies, there is not much movement to better themselves."

Again, her face showed contemplation. Was she imagining where she would fit in? She had asked the evening before if he would have time for her, once she arrived in Milton. Did she wonder again, where there was room for her in his world?

"And the children, Thornton," Bell interrupted what he was about to say. "Do not forget your youngest workers."

"Children?" She looked at him, narrow-eyed.

 _Damn the man!_

"I employ children," John stated quickly. "Unlike some of my fellow mill men who employ workers as tiny as five, I require mine to be no less than eight years old."

While this was his reality, the world of machinery and industry, to her it had to be incredible, perhaps inconceivable. Of course she had no base of comparison, never having need to work as a child, or now, even as an adult. She could have no idea of the financial hardship so many of his workers' families faced daily. Every small addition to the family income was welcomed.

"Eight? So young?" she breathed, her hand resting against her stomach. Her face showed more surprise than the disgust he was worried he would find.

"Yes. Families need all the money they can possibly earn," he stated, voicing the argument from his head. Better to be honest now than have misunderstandings later. "The young people are quick and spry enough to get under and between the machines as needed, to free cotton or collect the fluff."

"These children do not attend school?" Her delicate brows further narrowed. She looked between John and Mr. Bell. "I thought that was who my father would be working with?"

He shook his head. "Your father will be teaching boys from the _finest_ homes in Milton and the surrounding areas. Sons of the manufacturers, such as myself, and the men you dined with at Mrs. Shaw's home our first evening together." _The evening that changed my life_. "Bankers children, the children of attorneys, clergyman." He shrugged. There would be no children of the working class at the prestigious school.

"So, you are saying that the manufacturers do not employ their own children? They send them to school?" she asked.

"Correct. Although after children are educated, many come back and work in management positions at a mill. These are family businesses, you understand." He folded his hands in his lap and waited for further questions.

"Is it not dangerous, Mr. Thornton? Those little fingers… oh my." She looked away from him, out the window.

He wanted to say something to ease her mind, but what could he say? It _was_ dangerous, but he hardly forced these children to work. It was entirely the decision of their parents to send them to the mills and he took advantage of the skills they had to offer them. He paid a fair wage.

"If the children are careful," he said quietly, soothingly, "mind their overseer, there are few injuries, Miss Hale."

"Few?" She looked back at him.

"Children are not always careful. A dress might catch, or a pant leg." He shrugged, not really wishing to describe it any further. "Miss Hale, I assure you I do all I can to ensure the safety of everyone in my employ, the smallest ones included."

She stared at him silent, but then finally whispered, "You'll not employ your own children in such a manner?"

He saw real worry in her eyes. His own children? Lord, until meeting this woman he had never considered having a family. Images of Margaret holding small children on her lap infiltrated his mind.

"Not as little children, no." He shook his head. He would never force his children to work in the mill. No matter how desperate circumstances became. "However, I would be quite proud to have a son succeed me as _Master_ of Marlborough Mills. Indeed, I hope one day to own additional mills and will need that assistance."

"I see." She bit her bottom lip, something he noticed her do often when she was thinking something through. "Did you succeed your father?" she asked. "Was he a mill Master?"

John looked to Bell, curious what the man's reaction would be. He knew well what John's background was. Would he spout off some nonsense as he did about the children at the mill?

"My father was a cotton broker, not a manufacturer." He hoped he would not have to elaborate further, at least not at the moment.

She seemed content with that answer and turned her head to the window as the carriage pulled to a jolting halt in front of a brick home. Mrs. McMillan lived in a fine part of London, not far from Hyde Park where the _Great Exhibition_ was being held.

"Ah, he we are! This is Mrs. McMillian's domicile," Mr. Bell announced, his gazed trained outside the window. He looked back to them with a grin. "I shall step out and fetch her and return post haste."

Bell's footman was quick to hop down and prop open the door for his employer. Mr. Bell climbed down, but allowed the door to hang open. John wanted to swap seats and kiss Miss Hale again, or touch her hand, or... anything, really. Instead he held his seat with a sigh. Patience was not a strong suit and this courtship would surely exhaust what little he had.

"Someday, I should like to know how you came to be a cotton manufacturer," she said. She gave him an encouraging smile.

"I would be glad to tell you," he answered. "It is a bit of an explanation. Perhaps when we are touring the _Exhibition_ I will share it with you? Mr. Bell knows my past, but I am a rather private person, Miss Hale and would rather not share our discussion with this Mrs. McMillian."

"I would like that," she said. "If you are willing to share your past? In comparison, I have very little to tell you about my life that you do not already know, but I feel there is so much more to learn about you. Your life… Milton… it seems so different… so foreign to how I have lived, here in London and at Helstone."

"I imagine, Miss Hale, there is plenty you can tell me about your upbringing. I must admit I will be pleased to hear whatever you wish to share about yourself." He shifted on the seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You look quite lovely today, Miss Hale. I am very honored that you continue to consent to be in my company."

"It is _I_ that am honored to be with _you_ ," she answered him, grinning. "I enjoy your company greatly, Mr. Thornton."

"I hope that continues." He winked at her and settled back against the squabs.

Mr. Bell and his much younger female companion Mrs. McMillan were close enough now to hear anything else they would say, so John saved more discussion for a time they were alone.

Mrs. McMillian climbed aboard, followed by Mr. Bell, who settled next to him and closed the door.

"Miss Margaret Hale, please may I introduce you to Mrs. Hortense McMillian?" Bell's smile shifted back and forth between the two women.

"How do you do, Mrs. McMillian?" Miss Hale asked. She held out her hand. "I am pleased to meet any friends of Mr. Bell."

"Oh Miss Hale, I am so pleased to meet you. Adam said I was to meet you yesterday, but we failed to cross paths." She pumped Miss Hale's hand.

Mrs. McMillian was enthusiastic, obviously pleased to meet Bell's goddaughter. Yesterday, surrounded by the mill men she had been rather sedate. Not true now.

"Mr. Thornton, how lovely to see you again, sir." She extended her hand and John shook it politely.

"Yes indeed, Mrs. McMillian. I expect today will be a lovely day, again." He glanced at Miss Hale.

Bell engaged him in conversation about the price of various homes in the areas they passed, while Miss Hale visited with the other woman. It was hard for him to remain focused on what Mr. Bell was saying. He enjoyed listening to Miss Hale's voice, the accent cultured and smooth was quite different than the voices he often encountered in the north. When he glanced her way, he was enchanted by the expressiveness of her face as she gave Mrs. McMillian her full attention.

They arrived at the _Exhibition_ quickly. He knew exactly where he wanted to take her. Bell would not join them, he was certain, for it was an area outside of the Crystal Palace proper. Yesterday Miss Hale had seen his machinery, the mechanisms that allowed him to prosper and create some of the finest cotton in all of the world. Today, he would show her evidence of his roots, where he came from, and explain how he achieved all that he had thus far. She had asked to know more about his life, and would be happy to comply with her wishes.

"Mr. Bell," John said as the carriage paused in front of the south entrance of the Crystal Palace. "If it is acceptable to Miss Hale," he glanced toward her, "I would like to show her one of Prince Albert's model houses down near the Knightsbridge cavalry barracks before we go back through the _Exhibition_ inside." He pointed to the left. "If it pleases you, we can meet you later for tea near the fountain inside."

"Margaret? Is that agreeable?" Mr. Bell asked her.

It was almost as if Bell worried she would be unsafe in John's company. _How irritating_! Perhaps Mr. Hale had not told his old friend that Hale approved of the courtship? Perhaps Bell did not know of the courtship. It was hardly John's positon to enlighten the older man.

"Yes!" Miss Hale answered immediately, a broad smile on her beautiful face. "I think that is a brilliant plan."

"Hortense, shall we leave the youngsters?" Bell asked.

"Certainly." Mrs. McMillian smiled sweetly first at John then to Miss Hale she said, "I wish to see the daguerreotype display we did not get to visit yesterday."

They made hasty arrangements to meet at four at the fountain, and once Bell and Mrs. McMillian alighted from the carriage, the door was closed and the carriage rolled down the lane, toward their destination.

"Well then, will you tell me what I will be seeing?" she asked.

"No," he teased.

"What? Must it be a surprise then?" she chuckled.

"No," he answered again and then laughed at the frustrated expression that crossed her face.

"Fine then." She tipped up her nose, crossed her arms against her chest and looked out the window with a decided huff.

He laughed again, but refused to give in… she would see soon enough.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Hortense is a writer for the _Times_ ," Margaret said to John after the older couple had left them alone in Bell's finely appointed carriage. "She writes as Samuel Jensen."

"A man?" His chuckle was a lovely sound. It made her warm and fuzzy inside.

"She said it was difficult for a woman to be a writer of political thought." She shrugged. "Women are not taken seriously, it seems. At least in London." She looked away from his intense stare, out the window as they slowly creeped down the hill outside the Crystal Palace. "When I mentioned I might be going to the north, Mrs. McMillian suggested woman have a bit more freedom there. She said many work outside the home. Indeed, she believes the mills employ mostly women." She returned her gaze to him. "Women are in your employ, are they not?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, of course they are. Women's hands are smaller," he held up his large one, "and often more flexible then a man's. The women do a fine job in the carding room and the weaving sheds. Many even run the looms you saw yesterday at the _Exhibition_."

"And you treat them fairly?" she asked.

"A fair wage for good labor. We keep strict to our times, work to the bells. I run a tight ship, but I believe a fair one." He tipped his chin up, a sign of pride, she thought.

"Oh dear, I have offended you, I think." She frowned. "That was hardly my intention, Mr. Thornton. My apologies. I am just so confused about what Milton will be like, you see. The idea of women working… children working…" She shook her head and frowned. "It is just so very different."

He nodded. "Likely as different as Helstone would be for me. I am quite accustomed to homes built nearly upon each other. Sooty skies from the smoke stacks. Of course there are some fine things in Milton as well." He grinned, that handsome, heart stopping smile she could look at all day. "Those are things I shall look forward to sharing with you." He glanced out the window as the carriage slowed. "And here we are."

It was only a short distance from the Crystal Palace, but the carriage traffic moved at a turtle's pace, making a longer ride down the hill than if they had simply walked. Mr. Bell's young footman opened the door and John stepped out quickly, his large frame bent in half. When he stepped out, he instantly place his top hat on his dark head, before helping her down.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He placed her hand directly through his arm and pulled her closely to his side. He thanked the footman and guided her just a few feet away, to stop directly in front of a two story brick building. A sign on the front read, " _Model Houses for the Labouring Classes_."

"What is this?" she asked.

She looked up to him, always surprised by his height, and shielded her eyes from the sun with the back of her hand. The title of the display was obvious, but the reason for their visit there, was not.

"Prince Albert is calling for the development of dwellings such as this," he nodded toward the brick structure, "in _all_ mill towns. He would like to see them first built in Milton, Bolton and Manchester, specifically."

"For labourers such as yours?" she asked.

"Precisely." He nodded curtly, but continued to stare at her, perhaps to gauge her reaction to the building?

"Where do they reside at present, Mr. Thornton?" She assumed they lived in homes such as this. Perhaps not identical in quality to the finely appointed homes which she had spent much of her life, but suitable housing nonetheless.

"Most live in walking distance from the mill in a district called Princeton. The homes are small, with several families living quite close to one another."

"This," she, too, nodded toward the building, "is not like those houses?"

"No," he sighed. "This one is much larger, designed for four families, providing sufficient space for living. This is far grander, cleaner, than what you would find in Milton." He tipped down his head a bit to meet her eyes. "Will you go inside with me, kind lady?"

"Yes, of course. I should like to see how four families might fit in such a confined place."

An attendant opened the door for them, and he allowed her to walk ahead of him. They met a staircase, and could turn right or left to enter a private apartment. She chose to go right, pleased Mr. Thornton followed closely behind her. A smell of fresh wood permeated the air. The walls were whitewashed, clean, and the wood floors showed no dust. The furniture was not as fine as she was accustomed to, however the chairs near the fireplace were quite serviceable and the small table in the kitchen area sat four people comfortably. Only one other couple was inside viewing the display. They greeted them silently with tips of their heads.

She continued to wander through the sparsely decorated, nondescript space, touching the pristine stove as she passed through the kitchen to the back, where doors opened into two small bedrooms.

"From what I have read, Prince Albert sponsored this very model."

John was standing behind her, his hand resting gently at the back of her waist as he looked over her shoulder into the rooms. Tingles of heat crept along her spine and she closed her eyes on a wave of pleasure she could hardly understand.

"He, along with a group calling for the improvement of the conditions of the laboring classes are hoping we," he paused and leaned even closer, "the _manufacturers,_ encourage buildings such as this being erected in our areas."

"Will you?" she asked turning to look at him, breathless from the close contact.

He shrugged. "I am not opposed to them, but as tight as the economy is at the moment I cannot personally invest in the development of such buildings," he answered. "I do not operate a charitable organization. Everything I engage in must bring profit along with it."

He moved away, taking his warmth, and leather scent with him.

Clearly, she had touch a painful nerve. She reminded her foolish self he was in London to secure investors. If he had money to create a building such as this, he would not need to be courting the wealthy of Britain. She swallowed, feeling rather stupid for having asked such a thing of him.

A group of eight people suddenly joined them in the small apartment making it quite cramped. Margaret was unfamiliar with the language they were speaking, but whatever it was, they were rather boisterous and animated. John pulled her close as a man inadvertently shoved her as they moved back into the main living quarters.

"Have a care, man!" John growled.

The foreigner merely tipped his hat, turned away, and continued interacting with his group, laughing. The fellow looked back over his shoulder at Margaret and winked. She shifted quickly, with a frown, feeling ill used.

"Let us be away from here." He pulled her under his arm for protection. "I would like to see what the upstairs model looks like, if you would join me?"

She nodded, a lump in her throat. His whole demeanor had changed. She imagined he was no longer feeling like a lighthearted young man visiting London, but rather he had turned into the very serious businessman who operated mills in northern Britain. Everyone had various facets to their character, but Margaret had not been ready for such a drastic change in his.

Silently, they went back in to the entryway of the model and climbed the narrow flight of dimly lit stairs to the second floor. She heard his footfalls, heavy behind her, but he did not speak. She felt an invisible, uncomfortable heaviness settle between them.

At the top of the stairs she looked back at him, finally eye level as he stopped a step lower.

"I am sorry, Mr. Thornton." She swallowed. "I was not thinking when I asked earlier about these improvements. I am sorry if I…"

"Shhh." He touched her lips with his finger. As if realizing where they were, he quickly pulled away. "I dislike talking about money, Miss Hale. If I had unlimited resources, I would like to think I could provide better housing and resources for my hands. But as things are…" When he swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbed in his slender neck. "I must concentrate on profits."

"I understand." She rested her hand on his shoulder and fixed her gaze on it, whispering, "I will support you as best I can."

He took her hand and kissed the knuckles. "Thank you for that. Do not look so despairing. You have done nothing wrong, Miss Hale. Come, let us see this section."

He threaded her hand through his arm and walked up the final step moving them out of the way from the people coming from one of the upstairs apartments, seeking use of the stairs to return downstairs. He led her to the opposite apartment, to the left of the stairs and joined her inside.

"Looks identical," she said. Indeed, even the furniture was the same as what they found downstairs. Only the view from the two small windows at the front was different.

"It does." He nodded. "Will you sit with me for a moment?" He pointed to the chairs near the dormant fireplace. "There is something I would like to discuss with you."

"Oh?" she frowned.

Her heart thumped in her chest and landed at the bottom of her stomach. Had he decided to end things? No, of course not. He had just kissed her hand on the stairs. It had to be something else entirely.

She took the seat he gestured toward, and soon he joined her, adjusting his coat as he folded his lanky form in half on the upholstered chair. He leaned forward and folded his hands between his knees.

She tried to breathe normal, and be calm. For some reason she knew what he was about to share was of great import.

"Although I wish for you to see all that the _Great Exhibition_ has to offer, I brought you here for quite a particular purpose."

"Oh?" She was sounding like an owl.

"Could you…" he looked down at his hands and then back up toward her. "Could you find happiness living in a home such as this? Do you think… do you think you could turn your back on the splendor of Harley Street and bucolic Helstone and instead live in a dwelling such as this?"

Such a question! She mulled over her response, perhaps taking a bit too long. He shifted in silence.

"I see," he said, a ring of disappointment in his voice, distress written on his face.

"No! You misunderstand." She sat forward and briefly rested her hand on his. "I was simply considering life for people in these situations. The employment you earlier described."

"And?"  
"I believe I would be happy in whatever situation I will find myself, provided I have the love and support of someone I care for. I am not suggesting this would be an easy adjustment, but it would be one I would be willing to make."

"Truly?"

She nodded quickly. "Do you live in such a home, then? In Milton? You spoke of your workers living in such places. Do you as well?"

"Not now, no."

An older couple walked in the apartment, took a peek inside, smiled at them, and assuming perhaps they needed privacy, quickly retreated back into the hallway.

"But you did?" she whispered.

"Yes." He nodded. "Yes, we did. My mother and sister and myself. We lived in a space smaller than this, on the edge of Princeton which you will see when you come to the north."

"I see." She swallowed, imagining a smaller version of Mr. Thornton, rumbling around in a place such as this.

"It was after my father passed," he explained. "But, that has been a long time ago, Miss Hale. I was forced to leave school and provide earnings to support my family. It was humbling. As we visit these lodgings, I vividly recall these struggles and the reminder is rather painful."

"I am sorry," she said. She clutched his hand in a sign of comfort, please when he squeezed her fingers.

"Now, nearly twenty years later, I am in a much better position." He sat up straighter, letting her hand fall. "We—my mother and sister and me—live in a large home on the mill's grounds. Although I rent all the buildings from Mr. Bell, including the house, the business itself and all the equipment are mine entirely."

"You have made great strides, Mr. Thornton. You have reason to be quite proud of your achievements." She frowned. _Twenty years?_ Lord, how old was he?

"What has you frowning, my dear?"

 _My dear_!

"Oh," she was flummoxed. How does one ask… "How old are you, sir?" she blurted out, then flushed and covered her face with her hands. "Forgive me."

He laughed! Loudly. It made her blush further and shake her head at her foolishness.

He gently pried her away hands from her cheeks, yet she hesitated to look at him.

"Look at me, please?" he whispered softly.

She hesitantly met his gaze.

"Surely, you know I am older than you, aye?" He smiled. "I will turn three and thirty in July. Twelve years your senior?"

"Oh… yes… I will be twenty-one in October."

"Is that too old, then, Miss Hale? I understand if you have reservations."

"No, it's not that… but when you said… you had been working for twenty years already!" She shook her head again, trying to put into words what she was feeling. "That is the whole of my life. But you were just a little boy when you began…" her voice trailed off.

"I was, yes." He nodded. "That is why I keenly understand the whole of the industry. When I was first employed, I was a draper's assistant. Then, when I was older, and stronger, I was hired at the mill." He sighed. "You see, Miss Hale, ever since my father passed, Mr. Bell has been my mentor. I was at his school, you see, the school where I hope your father with work, when it happened. There are days Bell and I butt heads like goats in a field, but he has been so very good to me." He tipped up her chin. "For example, were it not for him, I would not have met you."

"Thornton!" Mr. Bell barked. "Are you even listening to me?"

John cleared his throat. "Forgive me, sir. My mind is otherwise engaged." _Understatement._

"Yes!" Bell snorted. "That is rather obvious, my boy."

Mr. Bell shifted on the carriage bench across from John. They had dropped off their female companions and were headed back to the hotel to prepare for the evening meeting they had with a London banker and two Members of Parliament.

"Have you spoken to Mr. Hale about Margaret?" Bell asked.

"I have, yes." John knew what was to come, had prepared for it.

"She is a well-bred young woman," Bell said. "It has been a difficult period for both her and Hale. Maria, Mrs. Hale, was a lovely woman." He paused and stretched his legs. "Tell me, Thornton, has Margaret mentioned her at all?"

"She has not." Which to John was rather strange, especially as he had spoken of his mother and sister quite a bit while touring the _Great Exhibition_ that day.

"To me, either. They were not close, not at all like Mrs. Shaw and her daughter, or perhaps even your mother and Miss Thornton. Margaret was always trailing after her father. When she was young she loved being outdoors in Helstone. Even here in London, she could often be found outside taking air."

"You are fond of her."

"Quite." Bell nodded decisively. "Which is why I am asking your intentions. I am certain if you spoke with Hale about her, you are thinking honorable notions in her regard. He no doubt informed you that although they are a fine family, they are not a _wealthy_ family. She has a bit of a dowry, and Hale has a living, apart from his salary from his church. Margaret is not an heiress though she carries herself as fine as any princess. I beg of you not to tease her with your attentions if you are not serious in your suit."

"Mr. Bell, you have known me nearly my entire life. Have you ever seen me toy with a woman? Have you ever even seen me enamored with a woman?"

"No." He shook his gray head and sighed. "I cannot say I have."

"I cannot put into precise words what I feel for Miss Hale, but I am not playing with her. Not at all. I am quite taken with her and believe she feels the same."

"She will not bring you money," Bell stated flatly. "A wife… if that is which way you are leaning… might very well _add_ to your financial woes."

John was about to interrupt, but Bell continued.

"Not that Margaret is a spendthrift," He shook his head. "That is not what I mean at all. But, John, you must be well positioned to take a wife. It would not do well to marry if you are not as stable as can be."

"Yes, I see." John nodded. The old man was right, of course. "I have every confidence that the economy of Milton will soon see a startling resurgence and hope Miss Hale will be at my side as it happens." He smiled. "She is an incredible lady."

"That she is. As fine as can be," Bell agreed. "You would be fortunate indeed to have you by your side, for better or worse."

"Richer or poorer as well. I do believe she has enough spirit to make it through hard times, do you not agree?"

"Yes, I do. However, marriage is difficult enough in the beginning, and having to adjust to financial limits might add to the strain." He sighed and his face turned stony. "I fear your mother and sister will likely not help matters. Living with in-laws is challenging even in the best of circumstances."

Bell was correct yet again. It would be difficult for his mother to give way to having another woman living in what she saw as _her_ house. When he married, there would obviously be a new _woman of the house_ , and John was not certain how his mother would adjust to surrendering her leading role. She would no longer be the most important person in his life, and although _she_ had suggested he find a woman while here in London, he had doubts she had been serious.

But he _had_ found a woman. A quite ideal woman who suited him nearly perfectly. She was lovely, smart, funny and did not present any haughty graces or airs that so many women of his acquaintance did. She was raised in a good home, with good connections. Indeed, she would be a very welcome part to his life.

Bell's concerns could hardly be overlooked, though. At present, the economy of Milton was stagnant. Marlborough Mills was operating on credit, and John worried that in a short time, if things did not improve, the mill could become insolvent. If there had never been a strike, perhaps things would look differently. That work stoppage had cost him dearly and retarded the plans for growth he had

"Ah, here we are." Bell popped open the cover of his watch case. "Shall we meet in the lobby in one hour? That should give me a few moments to close my eyes and still look presentable for the MPs this evening."

"Very well," John said as the carriage came to a halt. "I assume this will be a formal affair?"

"I would wear your finest, Thornton." He bent over to step out of the carriage. "Just to be sure." John watched Bell place his hat back on his head and smiled as he walked away toward the hotel, whistling and twirling his walking stick as he went. John was slower to enter the building, and rather than napping as his companion planned, John would instead scribble a letter to his mother. The sooner she learned of his attachment to Margaret Hale, the better for all of them.

"I find it quite remarkable Mr. Thornton gifted you such lovely roses. Roses, Margaret!" Edith clucked her tongue and sat next to Margaret on the bed. "Not just some common wildflower, mind you, but _roses_!"

"I was quite surprised and pleased, as you can well imagine." Margaret smiled. She had been running a brush through the snarls of her auburn hair, a smile permanently affixed to her face.

It had been the most wonderful day with Mr. Thornton. She was beginning to dread three days from now when he would leave for Milton. They had shared such a merry time, between the theater, and dancing and the _Great Exhibition_. He was the first man other than her father who had ever asked her opinion on things, or spoke about world issues. Margaret did not wish to be apart from him. She certainly hoped he felt the same. She had reason to believe he did.

"While you were out, and I was feeling poorly this morning," Edith sighed, "I looked in my _Bates Floral Compendium_ for the significance of these _roses_ and their color."

"You did?" Margaret was surprised.

It was odd for Edith to be so considerate. Edith had not been out of her rooms yet for the day when Mr. Thornton arrived to escort Margaret to the _Exhibition_.

"Yes. As I said, I was feeling _poorly_ and there was little I could do but eat biscuits to settle my stomach and lay about." Her whining was a bit more extreme than normal.

"Edith," Margaret patted her cousin's hand. "I am certain your issues will pass as the baby grows. I heard Aunt Shaw tell you that all women go through such trials and that was _precisely_ why you have no sisters and brothers."

"But Margaret, what if this is not a boy?" She rubbed her still-flat stomach. "What will my Sholto do if I do not give him an heir?"

"Is it really that intolerable, Edith?"

Margaret was accustomed in Edith's dramatics. She probably could have been a successful stage actress if Aunt Shaw did not see acting as being vulgar. When they were little, she and Edith often dressed up and pretended to be characters in their favorite books. Edith was still successful in acting, but now usually only employed her talents on her husband and mother.

Edith frowned before answering. "No, I suppose not. You are likely right, I just must become accustomed to feeling ill sometimes. The biscuits do help."

"And you feel better after the morning passes, you said."

"Yes, by lunchtime I am usually quite well."

"And you seem to maintain your level of energy through the day, so as long as your stomach is settled, you are well." Margaret summarized what she knew of her cousin's condition, reminding the girl her health concerns were minor, and only temporary.

"Yes, you are right, Margaret. I must stop complaining!" She shook her head, her loose blonde curls hitting the side of her face. "I am having a baby! I should be happy, not complaining for heaven's sake! So, let us not speak of it any further." She laid down on the bed, her loose, blonde hair spread across the pristine white of the pillowcase. "Now then, which shall I tell you the meaning of first?"

Thankful for a change of topic, Margaret smiled. "I would guess the white rose means purity or innocence?"

"It does." Edith nodded. "But, it can also mean, ' _I am worthy of you_.'"

"How lovely." Margaret sighed. What a beautiful thought. A pure love that was worthy of her. "So, that is the white. What of the orange? Who ever saw an _orange_ rose before?"

"He must not yet know of your love of the yellow Helstone roses." Edith chuckled. "Or these would all have been those sweet little blooms."

"I've had no occasion to explain my love of any flowers." She shook her head and laid next to Edith, facing her. "What of the orange?" she repeated.

"Fascination and _passion_."

"Truly?" Margaret giggled. "For me?"

"No one else! Fascination and worthy pure love." Edith sighed dramatically. "The lavender is the most exciting to me, and should be to you." Edith moved closer and put her mouth right near Margaret's ear. She whispered, "it means _love at first sight_."

"No!" Her hands flew to her face. She sat up, allowing her hair to tumble over her shoulder. "Love at first sight!"

"Indeed." Edith giggled. "He loves you, Margaret! He loves you."

"Oh my." Margaret fell back on the bed again and closed her eyes. "How can this be? We have known each other but a few days."

"Do you not care for him?"

"I do! Oh Edith, I do! But love?" She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at her cousin. "How can I love him already? Yet, I do want to be with him all the time, and when I am not with him, I am wondering about him, and when I am with him, my heart races and I am so very excited. Is that love? I do not know. How could I know?"

"Dearest, take care! You do not need to know your feelings just now. Love takes time to grow, at least it did for me with Sholto. I believe your Mr. Thornton is steadfast in his attentions, though. Shall I now tell you what the pink one means?"

"Of course." Margaret rolled onto her side, resting on her elbow and looked at Edith.

" _Perfect_ happiness."

"Perfect happiness," Margaret repeated. "Ah," she sighed, closing her eyes briefly.

"I also saw it mention _grace and elegance_ , which of course describes you perfectly."

"Perfect happiness, grace, passion, love at first sight and fascination. Oh my." Margaret laid back and rested her folded hands on her chest.

"Do not forget he feels he is worthy of you, or perhaps he feels _you_ are well worthy of _him_ ," Edith said, poking her side where she was ticklish.

Margaret wiggled away, laughing. "How remarkable so much emotion can be shared with four simple flowers."

"What is remarkable is how quickly John Thornton and Margaret Hale have fallen in love with each other." Edith giggled and pulled the counterpane over their heads, giggling even more, just as they had frequently done when younger, before Edith met her man and found love.


	10. Chapter 10

~Chapter 10~

"Oh my dear girl, what has you looking so glum?"

Mr. Bell joined Margaret on the long window seat of the Shaw's Harley Street home, snapping her out of her trance. She'd been staring blankly down onto the street oblivious, until now, to the rain dripping down the panes of the wide windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and an occasional flash of lighting split the darkening sky, but still she remain situated on the brightly patterned cushions in her Aunt's ostentatious drawing room.

With a weak smile, she reached out and took his proffered hand. "It is the weather, Mr. Bell," she lied. "It's distressing is it not?"

The weather? She wanted to snort! One day without seeing John and she was depressed and nearly on the verge of tears. It had not helped her mood any to have gone through a trunk of her mother's things which arrived just that morning. Or, that her father asked her to identify what goods they should sell to increase their funds to make removal to the north more comfortable. Sell her mother's treasures! _Inconceivable_. Yet, that is what her papa asked her to do, and being the dutiful Margaret Hale, she would.

"I may be old," Mr. Bell continued, wagging a gnarled finger at her, "but I well remember that you love rainy days. Was it not you and your brother that would tramp through the rain and irritate your mama when you arrived dripping and muddied at the vicarage's back door?"

"Yes, indeed." She chuckled, remembering that day quite vividly. Mr. Bell had come for her father's birthday celebration and soon after his arrival, she and Fred appeared wet and dirty, and not at all contrite.

"So, I will not accept you excuse that it is the weather causing your low spirits today." A smile suddenly spread across his face. "It is the arrival of Miss Dixon, then?" He chuckled. "Has her despotic personality thrown you into such tizzy you are in hiding?"

Dixon, her parent's faithful maid arrived in London early that day, having stayed behind to prepare their Helstone home for their full removal. Although her father had not decided if Milton would be their new home, he had declared that he could not, _would not_ return to Helstone. The memories of her dear mother's death were far too painful for him to endure.

"Dixon has made her presence known," Margaret answered. She rested her head against the window. "It seems more real, with her here, without Mama."

"What does?" he asked softly.

"She and Mama were never apart. Where Mama was, Dixon was close behind. All my life it was that way. Now she is here, but Mama…" she allowed her voice to trail off, her eyes drifting closed.

Mr. Bell reached forward and gently took her in his arms. "This has been difficult, my dear," He whispered against the side of her head which rested on his shoulder. He pulled away after giving her a tight hug. "Your father is pained. It is so very obvious he is suffering."

"Has he not improved since coming here?" she asked. "I thought he was looking better already since he first arrived?"

"Yes." Bell nodded. "He looks far better than when I last visited Helstone. But, he still looks quite lost."

She silently agreed.

"Milton, should he decide to accept my offer, will be a new start for you both." He squeezed her hand. "London will be his death, I fear, Margaret. He will be lost here. The church was his foundation, your mother, his rock. Both are gone, now, which leaves only you."

"And you," she answered. They were silent for several moments before she said, "Mr. Bell if you believe it will benefit him, then I must encourage Milton." She squeezed his hand, still holding hers in comfort. "I must admit I am concerned about what we will find in the north. Aunt has given me several newspaper articles about Milton and Manchester. It is so different, seems nearly a foreign world to me."

Aunt Shaw did not want Margaret to leave London. She believed Margaret and her father would settle in time, become accustomed to life in London, and find their niche. At breakfast, she had given Margaret and her father a stack of newspapers her butler had been sent on an errand to collect. While she had only read three of the articles about Milton, Margaret was not impressed by the image the papers painted of Milton and the area.

She sighed and looked away from her godfather. Today was simply not a good day.

He tipped her chin back, allowing her to face him again. "The London newspapers have _never_ been kind to Milton. You realize, my dear, I grew up there, and I am quite proud to call it my home. Of course, there are some problems." He waved in the air and looked out into the rain. "However… Problems can be found anywhere. Even your bucolic Helstone was not always perfect."

"Indeed," she quickly agreed. "The articles I read spoke of Milton's dirty, sooty skies, with no green space or open areas," she said. "Yesterday, Mr. Thornton showed me replicas of the tiny apartments many families in Milton live in. The back-to-back houses where his hands live were displayed at the Exhibition." She again looked away from his intense stare.

"Yes. I saw them, too." He sighed. "I wonder, Margaret, if you have not been too sheltered in this fine home?"

Her eyes flew back to him and she frowned. " _Too_ sheltered? Whatever do you mean?"

"Why, you have been protected from seeing any ugliness in the world. Your Aunt and Cousin Edith live in this beautiful home, with servants and beautiful gowns, delicious food and few cares." He paused. "I know you helped Dixon at Helstone, but I do not believe you have truly labored a day in your life."

"Mr. Bell…" she argued to only be cut-off

"Allow me to finish?" he asked. "You, Miss Hale, have lived a blessed, charmed and yes, _sheltered_ life. It is almost as if you have been protected from the reality most people face day in and out. Milton people, you see, are tough, laboring folks. They have forged a textile industry well respected throughout the world. They are a proud people, and many, but not _all_ are working poor. Were you to travel to certain areas of London, you would find poverty just as frequently here, perhaps even more so as in Milton there are jobs aplenty for people willing to work. Of course, those are areas of London that Mrs. Shaw would certainly never allow you to meander. But, I could take you there, my dear. Show you the stark reality of life."

That gave her pause. He was correct. She did not see the poverty in London that she'd read about in Milton. Although she had travelled throughout much of the town, Mr. Bell was correct. Dear Aunt Shaw avoided many parts of London, areas she once called as _undesirable_.

"How can I be so naïve? Why do the papers not speak of the issues of London?" she asked.

He chuckled. "I suppose those who can read do not wish to know or be bothered with those in society who are uneducated, poor and needy," he answered. "They wish to hear about fancy weddings, pretty exhibitions, the theater… but rarely the poor." He shrugged. "It seems to be the way of things. But, by writing and identifying the troubles of the north, Londoners will feel less guilty, perhaps, for ignoring their own poor, or simply say that it is not only in London where poverty exists." He shrugged. "We should ask my friend Hortense. Being a writer for _The Times_ , she might have a better understanding."

"No. No need to do that," Margaret answered quickly. She didn't wish to involve Mr. Bell's lady friend. "Your explanation is quite logical. Still, it is sad, the way they explained the poor of Milton."

He sighed. "It's highly unlikely you will have interaction with the underprivileged of Milton. Your father will be overseeing boys from the finest and wealthiest families, and if you continue to be in the company of Mr. Thornton… you will have no worries for your health and safety."

 _Her_ health and safety? But what of the people who lived in the squalor? While resting in the sitting room at the model home featured at the Great Exhibition with Mr. Thornton the day before, she had thought she could do something productive and meaningful to help those most in need. How else could she occupy her time? She would not need employment. Between her father's living from his family inheritance and whatever salary Bell was giving him, they would be surely be comfortable. What in the world might she do, day in and day out? Here in London she had friends, and knew ways to occupy her time, but in Milton?

"Perhaps I can help some of them, Mr. Bell?" she suggested tentatively, uncertain of his reaction. "In Helstone, we often had extra in the alms basket which I would help distribute to those less fortunate. Mama and I sometimes arranged clothing for those in need." She smiled. "I enjoyed that. I felt useful, as if I could make a difference in their lives, however small."

"Margaret! You wish to _help_ those in need?" His eyes widened. "Here I believed you were concerned about your welfare being near these people." He chuckled and then clapped. "Good on you, Margaret, good on you!"

"I am a _bit_ concerned perhaps," she conceded. "In Helstone, you see, I had Mama along when I went on my visits. But, in Milton I will be in need of an occupation of some sort. Dixon will care for Papa and the house, which leaves little to occupy my time."

"What about Mr. Thornton?" he asked gently. "Will he not occupy your time?"

She flushed and looked from his prying eyes out onto the street. She considered her next words carefully. She did not wish for Mr. Bell to realize the full depth of her feelings for Mr. Thornton.

"I understand Mr. Thornton to be a busy man. I should not wish to take time away from his work, yet I own that I have greatly enjoyed the time we have spent with each other." Her cheeks heated up, remembering Mr. Thornton's smile. "Until I meet people in Milton…" She shrugged.

"You will find your way. I have no doubt of that, my dear." He patted her hand gently.

The door to the sitting room opened suddenly, surprising them both. Dixon came bustling in carrying a tea tray. How was it tea time already? Where had the day gone? Staring into the rainy skies had robbed her of the afternoon. But truly, what else might she have been doing anyway? Digging through more memories of her mother would have simply added to her melancholy.

"Hello Miss Dixon!" Mr. Bell greeted her, standing. "It's fine to see you again."

"Thank you, Mr. Bell." She set the tray on a low table in front of the couch and then curtseyed with a smile toward each of them, and left.

"Shall I pour?" Margaret offered, standing.

"No, indeed, my dear." He frowned. "I have come only to say goodbye."

"Oh?" She matched his frown with one of her own. "So soon?"

"Yes, I must be back teaching at Oxford Monday. If I leave today I will still have time to prepare for my students. I am teaching a class on Socrates this term."  
"He is your favorite, is he not?" She smiled, recalling the many lessons he had given her over the years about his favorite philosopher. I was a fun game they played when she was younger. Mr. Bell would randomly give her and Fred quotes and make them identify the author. There was never a prize, of course, just the satisfaction that she was learning.

"Absolutely my favorite. I continue to learn more about him, the more I teach. Fascinating man."

Margaret followed behind as Mr. Bell made his way out of the drawing room. He collected his tall black hat and leather gloves from the butler standing patiently in wait.

"Have you said your goodbyes to Papa?" she asked.

"Yes, I have," he said with a nod. He took hold of her shoulders, a sigh escaping his lips. "Well, my dear, I imagine the next time we meet will be in Milton. I told your father I will be there in a fortnight to show both of you the town and the school. If it passes muster, you can move in immediately, and be well-settled before the next term begins in August."

"I see."

 _A fortnight_. In one way that seemed like such a short time to pack and be ready to live in a whole new area. On the other hand… two weeks without Mr. Thornton seemed to drag in front of her like a lifetime. Gracious! One day without him, and she was lost and forlorn!

He bent and kissed both of her cheeks and then said, "Adieu, my dear. Until we meet again."

"Be well, Mr. Bell." She impulsively hugged him and then stepped back with a wave as he went through the front door. The butler quickly opened an umbrella for him and guided Mr. Bell into his fancy, awaiting carriage.

She waved from the doorstep as he pulled away, returning inside only when the carriage was completely down the street, out of sight.

John stared at the hefty pile of paperwork resting on his lap. He should have long ago been sleeping but this business deal weighed heavily on his mind. It felt to him as if signing this agreement would be signing a deal with the devil. He needed the money being offered, but to what end? Stanton Jacobs, the man whose name was emblazoned on the bottom of the contract John held in his hand, was offering a tidy sum, but Jacobs also expected to be involved fully in daily, day-to-day operations of the mill. John simply couldn't see the success in that plan.

Marlborough Mills was his, and his alone. He may rent the buildings from Adam Bell, but the machinery was his, the employees were his, the fine product was all his. John could not share his business with anyone. He could not have an equal partner.

 _Except perhaps Margaret Hale_.

Unwittingly her face crept into his thoughts. Leaving _London_ in a couple of days would not be difficult. He was rather keen to return to his corner of Britain, but leaving _Margaret_ behind would be troubling.

" _Margaret_." He said the name out loud in the stillness of his hotel room. He loved the sound of it, the very feel of it coming from his mouth. " _Margaret_." How he longed to hear his own name come forth from her lips.

He rested against the headboard of the bed and laughed at himself. How foolish! Did all men fall as quickly, and as deeply as he had? Never having felt love before, these feelings were so unexpected, yet so strong. Did Margaret feel as much for him as he did for her? He could hardly tell her what he felt, could he? Was that how it was done or dare he wait to hear the words from her lips first?

He closed his eyes on a tired sigh. Soon, they- Margaret and her father- would join him in Milton. Before he left London, John would make certain Mr. Hale would allow him to correspond with Margaret. That contact might make the time speed along more quickly. After just one day apart he was missing her smiles and demure blushes. She was all graces and class, so unlike the women he knew in the north.

The one girl he had _ever_ considered marrying had gone off to a fine finishing school in Switzerland, and even after a significant amount of money spent by her father on her education and training, that girl could not hold a candle to Miss Hale. _Margaret._

He opened his eyes and looked back down at the contract. Mr. Jacobs had asked for a response before John left London. The generous amount offered would keep the mill in fine shape for at least six months if nothing within the economy improved. John knew things were already improving, however, having received a telegram from his mother that very day explaining two large orders had been received. If the payments he was waiting on from America also came while he was gone, there would be no need for any arrangement with Jacobs.

To John's mind, however, that left too many 'ifs' and he was not willing to sacrifice his business based on anything that was not for certain. He could not put his worker's lives and well-being in jeopardy. Not to mention his own, and that of his mother and younger sister, too.

As his eyelids began to get heavier, his thoughts strayed across town to where Margaret was likely slumbering. He wondered if she had thought of him as much that day as he had of her. To truly feel confident enough to offer her his hand he would have to be financially stable and at present he was not there.

He hoped his dear mother would welcome Margaret and come to care for her as much as he did already. Sharing the mill house with another woman would be hard for Hannah Thornton. Set in her ways, she was a tough woman. Firm and steady, she had become quite set in her ways, often inflexible, she was feared by many of his employees. She had suggested his attempt to find a bride. He hoped she had not been in jest and would be ready to accept Margaret and her father when they arrived in Milton.

He laughed again at himself. Putting the cart before the horse, again. Who was to say she would like Milton enough to stay? Why would a woman willingly give up the riches of London and life on Harley Street for dirty, smoky industrial Milton? Could he be enough to make her happy?

On that thought, he finally set aside his papers, pulled a blanket over himself and sighed. He needed some sleep to be able to function at his next meeting, only five hours from now. He turned down the lamp and settled into the bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he hoped that everything would fall into place for him, so he could realize the future which he wanted.


	11. Chapter 11

~Chapter Eleven~

"Excuse me, Madam." The Harley Street butler entered the dining room, and interrupted Aunt Shaw in midsentence. She and Margaret were sharing a quiet breakfast. "Mr. Thornton is here to see Miss Hale."

"At this time of day?" Aunt Shaw sputtered. Her tea cup clattered against the saucer as she slammed it down.

The butler completed his job, and with a curt bow, quickly retreated from the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Having served Aunt Shaw for more than two decades, he knew what was about to happen.

Voice raised, her aunt demanded, "What is the meaning of this?" She frowned at Margaret as if it was her fault the wonderful, handsome man was here at such an early hour.

"I'm sure I do not know, Aunt." Margaret swallowed the bite that she'd been chewing. She wanted to smile, so pleased he was there, but she knew it would make her aunt angrier. "We had no fixed plans to meet this morning." Indeed, she and Mr. Thornton had no set plans for the day at all. She knew she would see him, he had promised that, but she was not certain when.

"I see." She did not look convinced.

"May I meet with him, Aunt?" Margaret was hopeful. Surely she did not really need her aunt's permission to see their guest, but she thought it was right to ask, nonetheless.

"Margaret, I must tell you I am not at all pleased that your father has granted permission for you to be courted by a manufacturer. An industrialist!" With a shake of her head, she clicked her tongue repeatedly. "But, as I hardly have any say in the matter, I must relent and allow you to do as your father has approved."

"Thank you." Margaret stood, allowing the smile she'd been holding back to spread across her face.

"But!" Her aunt's voice stopped her. "Do not take this as my _blessing_ on this situation." She wagged her finger at Margaret. "No, indeed! I have raised you to marry well. This Mr. Thornton…"

"Is a good man, Aunt," Margaret interrupted. "He is the finest man I have ever met."

"But what about Henry Lennox…"

"He is my _friend_ , Aunt." She rested her hand on her aunt's shoulder. "No matter how hard I have tried to think of him differently, I cannot. Edith has finally accepted it. I hope you will, too?"

Her dearest aunt shook her head in resignation, her greyish blonde corkscrew curls dancing on the side of her face. "It is certainly not how _I_ would have wished for your future to progress. I imagined you here in London with Edith, raising families side by side just as you have been this ten years past. Gracious, what would your mother have said?"

Margaret chuckled. "On my last visit to Helstone, Mama told me how she wished for me to wed the son of a well-respected carriage maker called Gorman. A carriage maker is not much different from a cotton manufacturer, is it? They both must work for their living, rely on economic factors to make their way in the world. The young Mr. Gorman was no more appealing to me than Henry Lennox."

"Very well." Aunt Shaw patted the hand Margaret still rested on her shoulder. "I just wish for your happiness. Edith and the Captain are so very content. I wish the same for you."

"I thank you for that. And besides, Milton is but a train ride away." She smiled, hoping to ease some of the worry lines around her aunt's eyes. "Perhaps father will change his mind or," Margaret shrugged, "Milton will not suit me."

"Wishful thinking, my dear. I imagine you will find your way in the north, just as you always have, here in London and in the south." She took Margaret's hand, and in a rare loving gesture she kissed it. "Well, go off with you, then." Aunt Shaw waved toward the closed door. "But you must tell him that London calling hours are rather different than what he must be accustomed to."

Margaret bent and kissed her aunt's cheek and then smiled. "Yes, believe I shall."

She closed the dining room door behind her and smiled. John Thornton was there, in the drawing room waiting for her! She rushed down the hall and breezed inside so excited to see his tall, dark form. He stood by the window, his back to her as she entered the room.

"You are here!" she exclaimed.

He spun on his heel, a wide smile covering his face. While his looks were not as remarkable as some of the fashionable set she interacted with in London, his smile and startling blue eyes sent chills through her body every time she looked at him. Oh the feelings he gave her!

"I am." He moved close to her and grabbed her hands, giving them a squeeze. "I am very glad to see you today. May I say how I missed your smile yesterday?"

"You may," she blushed and looked down at her toes. "I also noticed your absence. I hope it was a productive day?"

"Somewhat." He tipped her chin up. "I am not here to discuss business, however." His smile faded. "I am sorry… I have come to say goodbye for now."

"What?" Her stomach plummeted. He was leaving her! "You are going home?"

"I am," he nodded. "Can we sit?"  
He gestured toward the couch nearest the fireplace and she followed.

Once seated, holding her hand in his, he began. "You have met Mr. Watson?"

She nodded. "I have. I he is not well?"

"He is as fine as can be expected. He received word this morning that there was a serious fire at his mill in Hayleigh."

"Oh my word!" She squeezed his hands. "Were any people injured?"

He pulled his hand from hers and caressed her cheek. "How like you to think of others." He leaned forward and kissed her lips softly. "You are a remarkable woman, Miss Hale."

"Thank you." She tipped her head and repeated her question. "But, you avoid my question. Was anyone hurt?"

"Yes." He sighed, and refused to meet her eyes. "Several dozens were killed. You see, fires are the greatest enemy of the textile factory. A simple spark of fire could destroy a man's business in moments, not to mention take lives. That's why we do not allow people to smoke anywhere near the building."

"Then how..."

"A lightning strike, they believe," he answered, anticipating her question. "It must have struck something, perhaps a lamp pole that fell against the building or a cart loaded with cotton in the courtyard." He shrugged. "I cannot say for certain just yet."

"If it is Mr. Watson's mill, why must _you_ leave?" She did not want to whine, but she expected they had two more days together!

"It is a rather strange relationship us mill master's share. Although we compete with each other for business, we also support one another in situations such as this. We men meet weekly. The wives have monthly dinners with each other. It is much like an exclusive men's club. So, even though Watson's mill was damaged, we will all return to Milton to help as we may."

"Has this occurred before?"

"A fire?"

She nodded.

"Small ones, but nothing recently in Milton. There was a large fire in Yorkshire last year." He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear the memory from his mind. "I will never forget that sight. The whole mill was devastated." His voice dipped low. "Hundreds died."

Involuntarily, her hand cupped his whiskered cheek. "I'm so sorry!"

He turned his face and kissed her palm and then clasped her hands in his much larger ones. Looking deeply into her eyes, he continued. "It is all part of my world, Miss Hale. I do my best to prevent such disasters, but I cannot do anything to change the weather."

"Of course." She nodded. "I should not be selfish at a time such as this. But, I just wish… that is…"

"I feel the same." He kissed her again. "Leaving London will not be difficult for me today, but leaving you… well." He leaned in again and pressed his lips harder against hers.

Many minutes of sweet pleasure passed between them before he slowly withdrew.

"You are _so_ lovely," he whispered next to her mouth. "How can someone as remarkable as _you_ even consider allowing a coarse man such as me kiss her?" He swept aside a lock of hair he'd loosened from a pin.

"I find you to be perfectly amiable and everything a man should be." She smiled and then sighed on a frown. "I do not envy what you must do the next few days." She glanced down at where their hands were joined. "I am very hopeful not too many lives have been lost, and that Mr. Watson's mill might be repaired."

"Me, too," he answered.

Suddenly his stomach growled. Her eyes shot up to his and seeing the slight flush cover his cheeks, she giggled. "Are you hungry? Did you not eat breakfast this morning?"

"I suppose I am." He nodded with a small smile. "Watson woke me early and rushed me to pack. As you imagine, he wanted to leave immediately. But, I knew I had to see you in person, to say goodbye."

"Thank you for that. I would have been devastated had you not come." She stood quickly. "Come let us feed you before you leave." She reached out a hand and pulled him up.

"Are you certain? Your aunt…"

"She knows you are here and will be glad to see you." She tugged on his hand. "Come along. What time does your train depart?"

Mr. Thornton unfolded his lanky body and intertwined his long fingers with hers. "I must leave here on the hour to arrive at the station on time."

She stopped short, bumping into him. "But that is only thirty minutes!"

He grabbed her shoulders to steady her. "Yes. I am sorry. I was keen to see you, even knowing it was only for an hour."

"I am glad, Mr. Thornton, very pleased you have come."

Her heart and head were full of so many other things she wished she could say, but as he was leaving, and having had such a short acquaintance, she knew she could not put the words into the air. If he did not feel the same, surely she would be embarrassed, perhaps even push him away.

"I would be quite disturbed had you reacted in the opposite way," he teased.

She continued into the hallway and back toward the dining room. He followed silently behind. Indeed she looked twice to be certain he was still following.

"Ready?" she asked with a small smirk as they reached the closed door.

"Yes." He bowed his head. "My stomach is quite ready."

Margaret opened the door of the dining room and led Mr. Thornton just inside. Her father had joined Aunt Shaw at the table, but Edith was not yet there.

"Ah, Mr. Thornton!" Mr. Hale stood quickly and walked to where John and Margaret stood. He took John's hand and greeted him. "Mrs. Shaw said you were here, but I was not at all certain my lovely daughter would share your attentions with me!"

John laughed. He truly enjoyed being in the company of Mr. Hale.

"I believe there is enough of me to go around." John laughed. "Mrs. Shaw." He bowed to the older woman. "I thank you for your hospitality. Miss Hale has invited me to breakfast, if it pleases you."

"Of course, Mr. Thornton! Please take any seat you wish." She waved toward a chair. "Margaret, do ring the bell for a plate for your Mr. Thornton."

He watched Margaret, graceful as a swan on a still lake, walk across the room and pull the cord for a servant. Mr. Hale took his spot at the table and soon Margaret was seated next to him, just mere inches away.

"I must be going back to Milton today," he began. "As I told Miss Hale moments ago, there was an accident at one of the mills. Not mine, you see, but Mr. Watson's."

"The Watson who dined with us?" Mrs. Shaw asked between sips of tea.

"Yes, that gentleman. He has asked that we—the mill master's—come and render aid as needed."

The servant came in with a full plate of food and set it, along with tea things in front of him. He smiled his thanks to the maid, who quickly scurried out.

"Excuse me a moment," Margaret said, standing quickly and following the maid from the room.

"We have set a date with Mr. Bell for a fortnight from yesterday to meet in Milton for our grand tour," Mr. Hale told him. The older man took a bite of toast before continuing. "It is quite a comfort to have some acquaintances there before we arrive. Otherwise, I should think it would be quite an uncomfortable relocation."

"It will be an adjustment, Mr. Hale, there is no doubt of that," John admitted. He took a sip of tepid tea he poured for himself. "I will be pleased to help however I may." John glanced at Mrs. Shaw. "I have written my mother, who will be pleased to help the Hales find all that they might need. I have a sister called Fanny who is of the same age as Miss Hale and I am quite certain they will get on famously."

"Did I hear my name?" She reentered the room and placed a kiss on her father's head before rejoining John again at the table.

"Mr. Thornton was offering his mother and sister's help to see you settled in Milton," Mrs. Shaw said. "It will be good, I should think, he has a sister your age and that you have met several men from good families in the north."

"Yes, Aunt, I believe you are right. More tea, Mr. Thornton?"

He saw her lips twitch, knew she was humored, just as he was, by her aunt's overbearing concern.

"Yes, please." He nodded. "Breakfast is very god, Mrs. Shaw. Thank you."

"I certainly wish you could have remained in London for a few more days," Mrs. Shaw told him. "We had thought to attend a musical presentation this evening."

"I'm sorry I will not be able to go along," he answered, looking between the women. "I have been impressed with all I have seen during this visit in London."

"Have you been here often?" Mr. Hale asked him. "I was under the impression this was your first foray into all this splendor!" He chuckled.

"Not often, no." John shook his head. He rested his back against the chair and set his napkin next to his plate. "I come through several times a year to go to visit business contacts in France at Le Havre. However, I usually do not tarry in London proper."

"Aunt, Mr. Thornton has said they have musicals and plays in Milton."

"Indeed." He nodded. "Recently, the Milton city fathers have built a fine museum, lending library and center for cultural learning. I expect their goal is to encourage some entertainment and perhaps some educational opportunities for all men of Milton."

"Not women?" Margaret asked, with a quirked brow.

"Women, as well," he said. She was teasing him, and he liked it! "I think it is likely, Miss Hale, you will find women treated with more equality in Milton than here in London."

"How so?" she asked.

"Many women, not all of course, are employed. Many in mills, such as mine. They work side-by-side men, earn much the same wage, have the same worker's rights as men." He dug into his eggs. He was far hungrier than he thought.

"But women of your station, sir?" Aunt Shaw questioned. "Are they expected to work, find employment? Your sister for example, is she employed? Should Margaret anticipate finding an occupation in Milton once they arrive?"

"No." He thought he answered a bit sharply. "No," he repeated, a bit more gentle in tone. "Miss Hale should not find an occupation unless she chooses to do so. And Fanny's only occupation at present is caring for Fanny." He chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

"I hope to engage in something useful with my time. I enjoy reading and embroidery as much as anyone, but surely there is something worthwhile which I can engage in?"

The clock in the dining room began to chime, climbing to ten and interrupting John as he was about to suggest she help her father at the school. That, to him, would be a perfect occupation for her, at least until… or perhaps _if_ she consented to be his bride. He knew she was the right woman for him. Had felt it since the first minute they spoke, the first moment they touched fingertips.

"The time has escaped me." He pushed his chair back slowly and stood with a sad sigh. "Mrs. Shaw, Miss Hale, Mr. Hale, I must beg your pardon and head to the train station." He looked directly to Miss Hale as he said the last. "The other fellows will be meeting me at the station. Watson was good enough to see to the transfer of my cases, so all I must do is arrive on time."

"Oh." Her face fell as she glanced from him to the clock and back towards him. She stood, likely planning seeing him to the door.

"You know, Mr. Thornton, Margaret and I were planning a visit to the dressmaker's this morning," Mrs. Shaw said. "Might we offer you a ride to the station?"

Surprised by the kind offer, he quickly accepted. Anything to be in Miss Hale's company for a few minutes longer would be quite welcome. Additionally, a private carriage was always preferable to a hired cab.

"Margaret go get ready," Mrs. Shaw said.

"I am ready, Aunt." She glanced at him. "I just need my cloak."

"Richard would you like to come along?" Mrs. Shaw asked, standing.

"Shopping? With two women? Goodness no! However, I could do with a few new shirts, Margaret if you find some I might like." Mr. Hale rattled off the sizes, evidently certain there would be ready-mades available for purchase.

"Very well, Papa." She kissed his cheek. "I will be glad to."

Mr. Hale stood, John still needed to ask for permission to write Miss Hale. "Excuse me ladies, might I have a moment with Mr. Hale?"

"Of course, Mr. Thornton," Mrs. Shaw said. "Margaret and I shall wait for you in the carriage out front. I hope Lewis has prepared it as I requested this morning!"

Margaret walked passed him with a smile. Her hand brushed his, whether by accident or intentionally, he did not know, but either way, her touch was quite pleasant.

Once the door closed behind the ladies, Mr. Hale said, "You are smitten, sir." Mr. Hale laughed. "It is hard to miss your interest."

"Does my interest in your daughter offend you?" Lord, he hoped not!

"Gracious, no! Indeed, I find I am quite pleased, Thornton." Mr. Hale reached out his hand. "Honored, really, that a man such as yourself has found my daughter appealing. I understand I may be biased, but I find her to be lovely and everything a perfect young woman should be." He led John through the door and into the hallway. "I often feared her time here in London would taint her somehow, turn her into a snob."

"She is hardly a snob, Mr. Hale. It is in fact her easy acceptance of me and especially my working class roots that I appreciate the most from her."

"Not her looks? Her smile? Her humor?"

"All that as well, sir," John admitted, and easy smile tipping up his lips. "However, beauty fades, character is more permanent."

"Truer words were never spoken, young man! However, her mother and I had twenty-five years before the Lord called her home. To me, Maria always remained as beautiful as the day I met her."

John swallowed. "You have my sympathies, sir."

Mr. Hale gave him a watery smile and swiped his nose with an embroidered hancherchief pulled from his pocket. Hale clapped John on the back. "It has been difficult, but being with Margaret has made it easier."

They stopped at the main door and after John was handed his hat and gloves, the butler opened the door. "I would like your blessing to write to Miss Hale until you arrive in Milton."

"Of course!" Mr. Hale said, patting John's back again in a fatherly gesture. "I am certain she would be pleased to receive your letters."

 _That was easy_. "Thank you." John held out his hand. "Until we meet in Milton, be well."

Mr. Hale shook his hand. "I am looking forward to it. Change is difficult for me, but with Margaret by my side, I expect it will go well."

"As I said, I will be pleased to help you as much as I may."

"Thank you again, Mr. Thornton. I wish you safe travels."

John nodded and then walked through the front door. The sun was shining, a huge contrast to the rainy distressing day before. The women were waiting as he climbed inside the well-appointed carriage.

"I was wondering if you got lost, Mr. Thornton." Miss Hale was teasing him again.

"Not quite. I said goodbye to your father." He rolled his eyes and chuckled. He hoped she could see that he enjoyed her teasing. He loved the attention she gave him, it made him warm inside.

"A fortnight will speed by like a passing train," she said.

"Yes." He dreaded what he would find in Milton. The bodies, the burned buildings, the graveyard with newly dug holes for the unfortunate few who passed in the

"Here, this is for you." Miss Hale handed him a small basket.

"What is this?" A gift!

"Food for your trip to the north. It will be a long time before you eat again, I would not wish for your stomach to growl." She laughed.

"That's very kind of you, Miss Hale. Thank you."

He caught Mrs. Shaw's eye-roll before she looked out the carriage window. He bit the inside of his mouth rather than laugh at the older woman. No one other than his mother had ever done something so considerate or thoughtful for him.

"Will you go to the musical tonight?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe I will." Miss Hale nodded. "I like them in general, and this woman in particular, Madame Voceroy, has a beautiful voice."

"Perhaps she will come tour in Milton and we can attend together? Many who come to Milton debut first in London" he asked. He was not particularly fond of music, but to please her, he would make an exception.

"I would like that."

The rest of the short ride was in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and Mrs. Shaw trying to be as invisible as she might be. Her eyes flittered often in his direction, followed by a rather becoming blush every time he looked back.

"Here we are!" Mrs. Shaw said, cutting the silence.

His eyes snapped to the window. Sure enough, they were at the train station. He had been so engrossed, staring at Miss Hale, the time went far too quickly.

"There is Watson," he said, pointing a short distance away.

He glanced back at Miss Hale, not wanting to separate from her in such a way, in front of Mrs. Shaw. She must have understood his concern, because she spoke quickly.

"Aunt, may I give Mr. Watson my sympathies? It should take but a moment?"

Mrs. Shaw huffed, but agreed anyway. "Yes, yes, but do hurry. Our dressmaker appointment is in just a few moments!"

"I shall be quick about it," Miss Hale promised.

He stepped out, balancing his food basket as he descended the stairs. He reached up his hand and guided her down to the street. He pulled her close to his side, threading her hand through his arm.

"She's _so_ dramatic," Miss Hale said as they walked from the carriage. "It should take less than ten minutes to arrive at the store."

"I was glad she suggested it. I was not quite ready to be away from you." He smiled down at her.

"When did you think of giving me this basket?"

She grinned, a cheeky smile that lit up her eyes. "When you seated me at the breakfast table and I heard your stomach rumble again." She laughed.

"It was very considerate," he said.

"You may share with the other men, if you wish, but you do not have to, and you may place the blame square on me, if you choose _not_ to." She laughed again.

They stopped right in front of where Watson stood.

"I was worried you would miss the train, Thornton. They are sure to make the call any moment." Watson tipped his hat. "Miss Hale."

John popped open his pocket watch with his free hand. They had plenty of time yet. Had he had to wait for a hired cab, it would have been close, but not in Mrs. Shaw's fine carriage.

"Mr. Watson, I wish to extend my sympathies," Miss Hale said quietly. "I hope things are not as bad as Mr. Thornton has described." She glanced up to John. "Oh, hello, Mr. Slickson."

The other mill master joined them silently.

"Miss Hale." He, too, tipped his hat. "Are you coming north with us, then?"

She shook her head. "No, not today. However, I expect my father and I will be there within a fortnight. I came to tell Mr. Watson how sorry I am of his troubles."

"I see," Slickson said. "Perhaps Mr. Thornton has told you we mill master's face such things as they come, but always move beyond them." Slickson patted Watson on the back. "This time it will be no different."

"I'm glad of that," Miss Hale said.

The four of them stood awkwardly until Miss Hale spoke again. "I should be going, or Aunt Shaw will come looking for me." She extended her hand formally to John. "I will see you again, sir."

A simple shake was not enough. He kissed her gloved hand, staring into her eyes. "Be well, Miss Hale. I will be glad to welcome you to Milton."

She slowly pulled her hand from his. "Gentleman." She tipped her head and turned away.

Once out of earshot, Slickson said, "She's a fine woman, Thornton."

"Yes, she is," he agreed with a curt nod.

He was not so concerned that Mr. Hale understand how he felt about his daughter, but it would do no good to show Slickson just how enamored he was with the girl. He watched her departure until she climbed up in the Shaw carriage. She paused for a moment, looked back to the spot where they parted, where he still stood. Catching his eye, she smiled and lifted a hand in goodbye. He waved back, feeling rather lost when she turned away from him to join her aunt inside. The driver closed the door behind her and climbed back up on his perch to guide them to the dressmaker.

John would feel her absence keenly, but following the mill masters to their seats on the train, he reminded himself it was only thirteen days until she would join him in Milton. That would give him time to prepare his mother, help Watson with his mill and hopefully sort out the financial difficulties facing his Marlborough Mills.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The northbound train whizzed down the tracks headless of the inner turmoil of one of its occupants. Margaret knew it would continue north, beyond Milton, where she and her father were set to disembark and start their new life. Once the train reached Blackpool, the final stop on the line, it would turn back south, to London or perhaps even further south. Trains were an odd thing, she thought, as she stared out the window at the unfamiliar passing scenery. They were forever going in circles, never stopping, never reaching a true final destination.

Would Milton be her last stop? That question continued to torment. The unknown was always scary for her, but never had uncertainty been as overwhelming as it was today.

"Margaret?" Her father's soft voice interrupted her musings.

She turned toward him, away from the hypnotic scenery she'd been studying through the window. He sat across the aisle from her in their first class compartment, a going away gift from Aunt Shaw.

"This journey north brings to mind another trip we took many, many years ago." He smiled gently, an eager look in his eyes. "Do you remember, my dear, or were you too young?"

"Yes, of course!" She smiled at him. She'd been thinking of the same holiday excursion not ten minutes earlier. "I was but five when we went to Scotland to visit my grandfather," she said. "It was great fun, such an adventure! I had never been out of Helstone before, not even to London! I still have the flowers Mama and I picked while we were in the Highlands. She pressed them for me in her bible." The bible was one of the few treasures Margaret had brought along on her on their relocation to Milton.

"Yes, I remember the two of you walking through the high wildflowers, your head barely visible above the weeds and flowers. How curious you were about all the varieties and colors." He paused and a smile spread across his face, followed by chuckles. "What I remember most, however, is how much that little rooster loved you. Do you remember?"

"Rooster?" She thought for a moment, but could not recall any chickens. There had been many children to play with- distant cousins who had come to celebrate her great-grandfather's seventy-fifth birthday. She met a lot of young people who spoke Gaelic, or a with such a thick Scotch brogue she could not fully understand them, but she could not recall any funny roosters.

"Oh, Margaret!" he suddenly clapped, surprising her. "I do believe that was _Frederick_ I am thinking of, not you." He laughed. "Yes! The rooster followed your _brother_ everywhere he went. The silly bird even waited for him on the window outside the drawing room. Fred had never been near chickens and I think it was unsettling to him."

When her father laughed, he looked younger, far less careworn. The last few days had been quite stressful. Their housewares from Helstone had been unloaded into a rented holding room at the London train station. Together, Margaret, her father and Dixon had sorted items, decided which would continue the journey north and what they would leave behind for Aunt Shaw to sell. Through tears and gut wrenching sadness, they dug through her mother's trunks, pulling out only a few items with sentimental value and a few dresses that could be redone to fit Margaret. The furniture was much the same way. The rooms they would have at the school were fully furnished, so again, they chose only a few pieces for comfort, such as her father's favorite arm chair and his many crates of books.

"Fred would have been twelve at the time," Margaret said. She smiled softly, remembering her dear brother at that age. "He bragged repeatedly that you and Mama had decided to take the trip as part of _his_ birthday gift." She laughed. Life was so much simpler then.

"I remember that." He nodded. "But when he met his older cousins, those loud Scots, Frederick realized he was still quite a little boy with much to learn." He chuckled again. "Your Aunt and Uncle Shaw and Edith, too, were along with us. Of course your aunt spent much of the time in her room with a headache. It was not… what," he shrugged, "… two years later and your uncle passed away."

That had been a hard time at Helstone. In fact, Margaret had almost drowned! Her mother had stayed with Aunt Shaw for many weeks, helping her sister adjust to a new life as a widower and Papa had difficulty keeping up with her and Frederick. If it weren't for their little maid Charlotte, Margaret might have drowned in the river near the house. After a heavy rain, the usually lazy stream was fat and fast. Frederick, always the competitive one had challenged her to swim across the stream faster than him. The current caught her, pulling her quickly downstream. Charlotte happened to be returning from a neighbors, heard Fred screaming and was able to pluck Margaret from the water. For the next fortnight, until their mother returned home, they were not allowed to leave the house without their father, which meant they went on visits with him to parishioners' homes and church events. It was a rather dull end to the summer, especially since Margaret vowed to never climb in a river or lake or ocean or any body of water bigger than a bathing tub again!

"Were you close to Uncle Shaw?" Margaret asked. Her aunt never spoke of her departed husband, and Margaret often wondered why she had never remarried. She was a lovely woman, but fiercely independent and domineering, completely unlike her own mother.

"Close?" Her father frowned in deliberation. "No, I would not say that." He stretched out his legs in front of him and crossed his arms against his chest. "I respected him, he commanded a certain level of respect, but he and I were worlds apart. His career was in the military, while I was a pacifist. I don't like conflict, Margaret, surely you know that. He, on the other hand loved spirited debates that sometimes turned rather… ugly and uncomfortable." Her father's lip curled into a look of a distasteful frown.

"I see." She'd often wondered about the man.

"We did not have many occasions to spend time together. Your mother liked him. Indeed, he was her beau before we met." He winked to Margaret.

Her eyes widened. "Truly?" She had never heard that.

"Yes, if you can imagine that I," he pressed his hand to his chest, "a plain clergyman, was able to steal her from a smartly dressed, well decorated military man! I gave her no promises of wealth or position, merely the guarantee I would love her until the day she died." He sighed and then began to tear up.

Margaret reached forward and took his hand. "And you did, Papa. You did everything you could. She knew how much you loved her." Margaret swallowed back tears, fighting for the strength to be his support. She had to be. She feared if she were weak, he would allow the darkness to overtake him and she could not allow that, because she feared he would never return to jolly man he was.

He nodded quickly and looked out the window, regaining his composure. Margaret leaned back against her seat, and sighed. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten several times, calming her nerves, and quelling the fear she'd been fighting through since learning they were moving to Milton.

"I mailed that letter you gave me, Mr. Hale," Dixon finally said something. Her eyes had been closed during the discussion, and Margaret had thought the faithful maid was napping.

Margaret's eyes popped open, curious what sort of letter her father needed their maid to mail for him.

"Thank you, Dixon." He gave Margaret a sheepish look and then stared down at his hands. "I wrote to Frederick, Margaret."

 _No!_ "Oh, Papa!"

"I could not help it." He sniffed and shook his head quickly. "My son had to know… about your mother… about our removal." He looked up at her. "What if he were to come home and we were not there?"

She leaned forward across the small aisle separating them and took his hands again. "You know as well as I do that he _cannot, must not,_ come back to England. If he did…" She swallowed and looked around. Lowering her voice, she leaned forward and continued, "He would be hung as a traitor."

"Yes, yes, I know! I know! But can you not see?" He squeezed her hands tighter. "He _has_ to know. He must grieve just as we are!"

She glanced down at the blue sleeve of her traveling suit and suddenly she felt quite guilty for no longer donning black as her father still did. Aunt Shaw and Dixon were still in full black garb, yet Margaret had stopped the night she met Mr. Thornton. Was she disparaging the memory of her mother by not visibly mourning?

"Papa, you did the right thing," she assured him. Dropping his hands, she sat back against the train seat. "He should know what is happening, even if he can no longer be a part of it." She paused. "You wrote to Cadiz?"

"Yes." He nodded. "He is safe there."

She studied his profile as he turned his gaze from hers and out the window. There was something he was not telling her, she could sense it.

"Papa, is there something else?" she prodded.

He turned to her with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I feel as if there is something more you have not said."

He sighed, and first glanced at Dixon sitting quietly next to Margaret before looking at her.

"Your dear mother wanted me to contact him," he said. "Just before Christmas, when she knew her time was near, she asked to see him, begged to see him one final time."

 _But not me,_ Margaret thought. That's how it always was. Her mother was very close to Frederick, but not to Margaret. The year he went to the Navy was the year Margaret began living in London. At first it was just two months at a time, during the _Season_ when Margaret could participate in the arts and music and dance instruction. The length of Margaret's visits soon extended to almost the whole year, with only a few weeks during the summer spent in Helstone with her parents.

"Did you contact him then, also?" she asked quietly.

"No. Oh, Margaret! I was so scared for him. I knew that if I told him how sick your mother was, he would run the risk of coming. I feared I would lose not only your mother to the death reaper but Frederick also, and that would be intolerable, for it would be at my own selfish hand. I would be putting him in harm's way."

"But, Mama?"  
"I lied." He moaned, a sound from deep inside that sounded so painful, so sorrowful it hurt her to hear. "Oh, Margaret, I lied to her," he wailed. "I told your mother I had contacted him." It took many minutes for him to regain his calm. Margaret remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. "That was the only lie I ever told her in our quarter of a century together."

She believed that.

"Fred is safe, Papa, and Mama is in heaven with the Lord. Do not allow it to lay heavily upon your heart. You did as you saw best. Mama died in peace." Or at least Margaret believed she had. Her father had failed to invite _her_ home to say goodbye to her mother in the final days, but she could not dwell on that. She would not hold it as a grudge against her father. His explanation had been simple- Margaret had just visited for the holiday and he had not realized how quickly her mother would pass. Add to that his continued denial over the severity of her condition, it truly was no wonder that he failed to call Margaret back home. It was also a reminder to Margaret of how good Aunt Shaw had been to her these last ten years.

Margaret said nothing else until they arrived at the next station, thirty minutes later. Her father and Dixon had both drifted off to sleep, but she busied herself with her thoughts. The scenery was so lovely. Trees lined the rails, mountains could be seen in the distance for a bit, and then there was plenty of open space again. It was a warm day, but not unbearable for early July.

When the train pulled to a stop at the station, and a short break was announced, she pulled a shiny red apple from the food basket she'd brought along and stepped outside the train compartment for some cooler, fresh air. As she bit into the juicy apple, she smiled, recalling the first line of the first letter John Thornton wrote her after he arrived safely back home in Milton, a fortnight earlier.

He'd written, _"I cannot thank you enough for the consideration of the food basket. I did share with my fellow passengers, but I kept the sweets for myself."_

The rest of the letter was equally entertaining. He was a fine writer, and had sent three more, shorter letters since then, which she answered quickly, hoping for a speedy reply. If she'd expected poetry or flowery prose, she would have been quite disappointed. In reality, they read a bit like journal entries. Never having received a letter from a man before, well other than Mr. Bell and her father, she had not been certain what to expect, exactly. She had not been disappointed though. Just the fact he had taken time from a long busy day to write her was enough of a pleasure.

She strolled the sidewalk, next to the train, stretching her legs. She wasn't certain how long the train would remain idle, and while she wanted to take a long walk, she had to stay close to listen for the boarding call.

Two well-dressed men, about her own age carrying leather satchels walked toward her. She briefly made eye contact with the taller man, surprised when he uttered, "Well, well, Dolby, look at that little peach fresh for the plucking."

Embarrassed, her eyes darted about, searching for a spot to land that would not encourage his further attention. When the men passed without further comment or delay, she looked around the platform, thinking surely he was referring to some other young lady. But no, she was the only one close enough they could have spoken of.

 _A fresh peach?_

What was with men all of a sudden? First, Henry Lennox proposed marriage simply out of the blue. Then, John Thornton asked to court her, and now these two men showed marked, impertinent attention. Was it normal, then, that men be so forthright?

An involuntary comparison appeared in her mind, between the two men she knew best, Henry and John. In truth, they were very little alike. Henry was a pretty man, fond of the finest things in life, but unwilling to dirty his hands and get involved in the gritty things in life, things that now interested Margaret the most. John Thornton, while rough around the edges, was a fine man, and she was very much looking forward to knowing him better. He wasn't pretty and refined, but handsome in a purely masculine way, a way that made her heart flutter in her breast every time his startling blue eyes looked her way.

"Blackpool train, now loading!" A man's voice rang out. "Blackpool train, now loading!"

Margaret realized she had meandered further down the track than she had intended. She turned back quickly, hoping she had not worried her father. Not surprisingly, his gray head was poking from the train compartment as she neared. She smiled and waved, hurrying her steps.

"Come quickly," he called.

Along the way, she tossed her apple core in the trash receptacle and quickly joined him, climbing on board only minutes before the train pulled away from the station. Once she settled, she told her father, "I believe I am now going to close my eyes. I hope that it will make the time pass more quickly. I am very anxious to arrive in Milton."

With that, she snuggled into the cushioned seat the best she could. She wadded her cloak into a ball and settled it against the window. Using it as a pillow, she closed her eyes and hoped she would have happy dreams about her impending future.

"That was a lovely reading as always, Mother." John bent and kissed his mother's head. As usual, she wore her dark hair pulled back in a severe style, matching the sober black clothing she consistently wore.

He had waited until the servants were excused for the night, before leaving the sitting room himself to complete the mounting paperwork in the office at Marlborough Mills. Every night, his mother required all who lived within the house at Marlborough Mills to listen to her reading the works of Matthew Henry, a man who had written a six volume set of books commenting upon various biblical passages. Since he was small, John recalled her proclivity toward that particular author and his interpretation of the sacred book. John imagined she would continue to read it aloud each evening until she could no longer utter a breath.

Fanny was out with young Walter Slickson that evening, enjoying dinner and a dance at the civic center. John knew his mother would remain awake until Fanny returned home, having placed a limit on her time out with Slickson. John expected, hoped really, the younger man would soon offer for Fanny. If John was able to get her married off, it would relieve at least one worry from his mind.

"John," she said, pulling on his hand, "why are you so glum tonight? I have not seen you so weary since you came home from London. Has something gone awry? Have the investors not followed through as you planned?"

He sighed and sat on a hard backed chair next to her, still holding her hand. No one had given him love and support as she had. In the good times and the foul times, his mother gave him unconditional love and support. It had been the two of them and little Fanny after his father murdered himself, just the three of them against the world. He felt almost as helpless now as he had nearly twenty years earlier, after his father's fateful end.

"All the potential investors I met in London have come to visit. The last one left yesterday morning," he said. "While several of them are indeed interested in investing, their money comes with strings attached. Two of the men wish to be keenly involved in the day-to-day, week-to-week operation of the mill. They require constant communication and input, and I do not know that I can operate under such a situation." He rested his head against the back of the chair. "It has been so, so long since I have had to answer to anyone. I am not certain I could accept having an overseer." He grinned. "I've become too set in my ways, Mother."

"But for the mill's future, perhaps you must? At least until we are up to full production and financially sound once again?" She patted his hand. "Can we change anything here at the house to give you more capital? Are there ways we may cut corners a bit?"

"No, mother. I would not steal from your comfort when I am unwilling to test my own fortitude." He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.

"You are so tired." She patted his cheek as she did when he was a small lad. "You should just go to bed. Start the day early tomorrow instead."

"Perhaps you are right," he reluctantly agreed. "Things always look brighter in the light. Taking on some of Watson's employees and orders following the fire had stressed resources even further, but it had to be done."

He stood and stretched his arms to the ceiling and then twisted his back. He felt a hundred years old today, weak in mind and spirit.

"I will see you at breakfast." He bent and kissed her cheek again.

"Perhaps _she_ will arrive tomorrow." His mother frowned. "That will surely brighten your spirits."

"She?"

"Don't play dumb with me, son." Her voice was rather harsh, he thought. "I've been waiting for you to tell me more about this Miss Margaret Hale."

"Ah." He chuckled. "I have told you all I know about the lady." All he was willing to share with his _mother_ anyway. "Her last letter said she would come to the mill the morning after she arrived here in Milton." He frowned. "I expected that to happen three days ago."

"She will come, John. She knows your worth." After a huge sigh, she repeated, "She will come."

"I dare not hope mill things will straighten enough for me to marry." A huge smile spread across his face then. "Mother, I cannot believe a creature as perfect as her might care for me."

"Ach, don't be ridiculous!" she cussed. "You've put her on a pedestal as if she were the daughter of Queen Victoria rather than a simple clergyman's lass. She is a _woman_. A person of flesh and blood just as you or me."  
He shook his head. His mother was right, of course, but knew there was something quite special about Miss Hale. There would be an adjustment period, he imagined, a pecking order to be established. His mother had been his keeper for decades, and now… well, he hoped anyway… that Miss Hale, _Margaret_ , would take over that role and become his partner in all things.

"I am confident you will see, mother, just how special Miss Hale is." He looked down at his shoes. It would not do for his mother to see how much he anticipated Miss Hale's arrival. He could already see the jealousy, the fear that his mother's place in his life would be taken over by someone she didn't know. "Perhaps tomorrow she will arrive. I can only hope she has not changed her mind or that her father has had another change of conscious and will instead return to the church."

She snorted. "Good clergymen do not leave the church."

"Mother, his wife has just died, surely you can understand why at this difficult time he is questioning his faith, his very future? You, _of all people_ , should be considerate of what he is feeling. He wants Miss Hale to be with him, and together they will start a fresh life."

"In Milton? A town they know nothing about and where no one knows them? Seems odd to me, John." She made an odd sound, clicking her tongue.

"Are you suggesting they are hiding something?" How ludicrous!

"They are _southerners_. You say she's a fancy London lass. _Those people_ do not settle in Milton." There was a sneer in her voice. "How will she ever adjust to an industrial town, where the workday is fourteen hours, when all she has been used to seeking nothing but her own pleasure day in and day out?"

"You know nothing about her!" he said, rather irritably.

"I know their _kind_." She wagged a finger at him.

"Why not just reserve judgement until you meet them?" He crossed his arms against his chest, and looked down at his mother. He gentled his tone. "Is it not enough that _I_ like them?"

She frowned up at him. "When she comes, send her to me. I want to visit with her and Mr. Hale without you being in the mix. You said they were to come in the morning following their arrival, so leave us be alone for a bit, then you may join us for tea or lunch, depending upon the time."

"Fine," he agreed. "Perhaps tomorrow will be the day." He crouched low so he could look directly into her eyes. "You will always be my first love, Mama, but surely you knew I would eventually wish to marry?"

"I will be ready for it." She nodded, still frowning. "I just expected you to choose a woman of our ilk, someone who understands our mill life."

"Time will tell." He smiled at her. "I love you. Good night."

She was a tough woman to love, he decided, walking down the hallway toward his bed chamber. She was not soft in any way. There were no loving gestures, but rather, she showed her love through her actions and support.

He closed the door after entering his room and quickly divested himself of his cravat and frockcoat. As he had nearly every night since his return from London, he walked to his tall bureau where the letters from Miss Hale were carefully stashed in his top drawer. He didn't trust the maids not to snoop, nor did he trust his sister who seemed to be nearby every time a letter was delivered to him. Full of probing questions, Fanny seemed nearly as anxious as he was to see Miss Hale again.

He pulled out the papers, while unbuttoning his shirt with his other hand. They still held a light sent of lavender, something he'd noticed about her immediately when they met at Mrs. Shaw's house party. Her writing was also flowery, with loops and neat endings. He sat on the edge of his bed, kicked off his shoes and then twisted, so his back was resting against the headboard. He should be studying the contracts the investors left for him, but instead, he needed to read her sweet words once again. He needed to remind himself that she was real, that he hadn't dreamt the whole experience.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"Margaret Anne, if you do not cease your wiggles, you will cause this carriage to topple over!"

"Oh what a funny man you are! Topple over, indeed!" Margaret laughed at her father's barb. She did just what he asked though, and forced herself to sit still on the cushioned seat of Mr. Bells' fine carriage as they rolled through the streets of Milton. "I am simply anxious to see Marlborough Mills."

"Just the mill, eh?" he asked, smirking.

She rolled her eyes and then looked out the glass window, a small grin turning up the edges of her mouth. Her father knew her well. "Perhaps its master, as well."

"Perhaps?" he probed.

She turned back toward him. " _Definitely_ ," she conceded, smiling all the wider.

"I am pleased by how excited you are." He reached forward and squeezed her gloved hand. "Pleased to see you happy. Your joy has spread to me, and lightened my heart."

"It has been a difficult week."

She sighed and looked away from him, fearful tears would form, and that would simply not do. Not today. The past six months had been an emotional struggle, but that was behind her now. Here in Milton they had a new life. There was a light in her father's eyes she had not seen in a long time, a new enthusiasm as he embarked upon his new career. It was as if he was given a chance to redo his life and she was willing to do whatever she had to do to allow him to made new memories.

Unfortunately, Margaret was not very impressed by the city of Milton. It was, just as her Aunt Shaw warned before they left London, smoky and dirty with canals which emitted a smelly odor she could not quite identify. People were as gray as the sky, their clothing utilitarian rather than stylish. She kept searching for something to please her, anything positive, but so far she had failed. She hoped Marlborough Mills would be the exception, that seeing John Thornton's face again would be enough to improve her impression of Milton.

Mr. Bell did have a lovely home. That was a bright spot, but from the moment she stepped off the train quite late the night before, she'd felt keen disappointment. Milton was so very different from her beloved Helstone and the sections of London she was allowed to frequent. She hoped it would be a short adjustment period, that the streets here would become as familiar as Harley Street in London and the woods around the vicarage in Helstone.

"Mrs. Shaw tells me she had a discussion with you before we left," he said.

She turned her gaze from the window back toward her father. "Oh?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat and looked rather uncomfortable "She seems rather determined that you not tie yourself permanently to Mr. Thornton."

Margaret snorted. "She has made quite _plain_ that I could chose a much better husband." She sighed. "Mr. Thornton is a _manufacturer,_ and in her mind this makes him less worthy of my affections than someone who does not work for his wage."

"And… this is not how _you_ feel?"

"No!" she said. "Indeed, I find it quite noble and honorable that Mr. Thornton has such employment." She leaned forward in her seat, excitement coursing through her. "Papa, he employs hundreds of people. He runs a mill that creates the very finest cotton in the world. He tells me his mill distributes the finished product all over the world. Even back to America where the raw cotton originates. I find him… extraordinary." She flushed at her admission and quickly looked away, lest her father realize just how much she cared for Mr. Thornton.

"So that is the way of it?"

"Yes, Papa." She stared at her hands folded primly in her lap, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"You've know the man but a month," he said, not in a judgmental tone, but rather in a matter of fact way. "I find no reason not to encourage the match, but such a short time…"

Margaret interrupted. "How long did you know Mama?"

She knew the answer, of course. Aunt Shaw often lamented the rash decision Margaret's parents made when they wed after knowing each other only a month's time.

"That was different." He rested his palms on his knees and shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "We—your mother and I— were both of London, with similar family situations and backgrounds. You and Mr. Thornton have so little in common, my dear."

She swallowed, forced to concede he might be correct.

"Now, I am not saying that you cannot explore a future with the man," he continued gently. "However, I must urge you to proceed with caution." He squeezed her hand again. "I do not want you to have your heart broken. It is my hope that he is exactly as he seems, that he will make you happy forever, but let us not rush this. You are young. He is young. Surely restraint and patience will be the most prudent course?"

"Yes, of course."

She leaned back against the cushions, a bit surprised by her father's warning. She had believed he was excited for her future as she was. Disappointed, she looked back out the window and jumped when a loud whistle blew. It was the same that rang very early that morning, rousing her from her deep sleep.

"I suppose we will have to adjust to those sirens."

"What are they for?" she asked.

"It signals the mid-morning break," he answered. "Look there."

He pointed toward a stream of people walking down the street, filing passed the carriage with barely a glance. Many were more interested in lighting their pipes than where they were walking, she realized.

"Did you hear the noise this morning? I heard two separate whistles," he said. "I imagine the first was to help them awaken, the second was a bit later, likely to signal the beginning of the work day."

What would it be like to follow the sound of bells? To have a strict schedule? That was how Mr. Thornton operated each day. His day began with the bell, paused with a bell and ended with another. How odd that would be, to be beholden to such a sound.

"Yes, I heard them."

Their carriage was forced to a sudden halt as people flooded the street. Did every mill take a break at the same time? Likely so, it seemed. With so many milling about it was hard to imagine all worked at a single mill.

Margaret was keenly interested in the women in the crowd. She had never seen a woman at work before, well except as a maid or house servant. The idea that these women would stand side-by-side men in the mill each day, sweat and toil as they did, was remarkable in Margaret's mind. None were tidy, their clothes sweat and dirt stained, and many appeared flushed and tired. People of all ages were among the throng of people. Small children, no larger than ten trailed behind, playing tag with each other.

Some of these were what Mr. Thornton call his _hands_. These were the faces of the people who lived in the tiny back-to-back houses with their families. Guilt like she'd never felt before assailed her, threatening to draw tears. Here she sat in Mr. Bell's fine carriage, in a brand new gown purchased for her by Aunt Shaw, at a price that most of the women passing could not earn in a month's time. The clothing, if you would call it such, was no better than what could be found in the rag bin at the Shaw's home. She moaned.

"What did you say, my dear?" her father asked.

"Nothing." She shook her head and turned from the scene out the window. "I only groaned."

"What brought that on?" he asked, a frown wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

She then went on to explain what was running through her mind. Putting it into words somehow made it even worse. She blinked quickly, clearing away the tears forming in her eyes.

"Margaret, you cannot change your birth." His voice was rough. It caught her attention, and shook her a bit. "Although we find ourselves in reduced circumstances at this time, that does not change how you we raised."

When the carriage was able to resume its movement. She looked outside again, surprised to spy an enormous sign for Marlborough Mills. It was arch shaped, attached to opened iron gates.

"Margaret. Promise me you will never _ever_ apologize or be embarrassed for who you are or what you have. You have a kind heart, my dear. You always have. Why, I remember when you were young and traveled to visit parishioners with me. I worried you would be overcome by the sadness we would encounter. Instead, you pitched in and helped the ladies with their children, you cleaned the homes of women who lost their husbands. You helped Dixon put together baskets of food and comfort items. You will continue to do so here, and you will be a blessing to Milton. One way or another. But, do not get lost in it as I did. Do not forget who you are."

Margaret nodded, at a loss for words. He _had_ noticed all she had done over the years. It _had_ touched him. He never spoke of her good deeds. She approached people kindly, humbly. She tried to do what was needed, what she was capable of doing for others. Her mother, bless her soul, was uncomfortable helping the needy. Being raised in society as she had been, it was difficult for her to interact and understand the needs of the poor.

"Here we are," he said.

The carriage pulled inside the gates and stopped near a wide double-door. The driver quickly hopped down from his outside perch and propped opened the carriage door. Her father stepped out first to help her down. She looked up, surprised at how tall the building were. Three stories, with hundreds of windows, allowing daylight into the stone buildings. The huge courtyard was free of people, but wheeled carts were parked about, filled with bales of what she supposed must be cotton. The courtyard was dusty, but clean.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She answered with a nod and wide-eyed smile. She snaked her hand through his extended arm, and together, they walked toward what looked like the main entrance. An older, stooped grey-haired man popped out from a small wooden door attached to the main building, startling her.

"Hello," the man, dressed in brown from head to toe, said quickly. "Can I help you?"

"Ah! Hello." Her father smiled. "We are here to see Mr. Thornton. I'm Richard Hale, this is my daughter Margaret."

"The Hales!" The man nodded curtly. "Been expecting you. I'm Williams, Mr. Thornton's overseer. He's up in his office, I believe. If you'll follow me?"

Mr. Thornton had mentioned Mr. Williams to her. He complimented the man's leadership while Mr. Thornton was away, visiting in London. He claimed he would trust his mill to no one but Williams or his mother.

They followed closely behind. Instead of going through the main door as she had expected, he took them through a door to the side of the main door, which led up a narrow, dark stairway.

"Mr. Thornton's office is on the second floor," Williams explained over his shoulder. "He is able to oversee the whole floor from his room."

They followed in almost reverent silence. The hallway was just as she would have expected a haunted place to look and feel like. It was dark and narrow with a slight musty odor. She was glad not be alone.

When they came to the top of the staircase, Williams opened another door which led to a much brighter hallway. The walls were clean, looked freshly painted, and windows lined the whole outer wall, making it feel bright, and far less oppressive than the staircase area.

With each step they took, Margaret's became more and more excited and anxious to see Mr. Thornton again. Lord, his letters had been wonderful, and she was so eager to see if they would suit as well in Milton as they had in London. Realizing that after more than a fortnight apart she would soon see his beautiful eyes and smile again made her heart flip in her breast. She thought her shortness of breath was from climbing the stairs, but it could easily be from anticipation, too.

After a short walk in silence, they reached another door. Unlike the others, this one had a glass insert that read _Marlborough Mills Office_. So many doors! It would take some time to know the layout of such a large facility.

"Here we are," Williams said. He rapped twice on the door and then opened it.

Although she wanted to push both men aside and rush into Mr. Thornton's arms, instead she took a deep breath and with ladylike grace, walked across the threshold, only to find the room… empty. Well, not completely empty. There were office things scattered about, a desk, a chair, piles of paperwork on the desk, and a very pretty oil lamp. But there was no John Thornton! Drat!

Mr. Williams walked to the windows behind Mr. Thornton's massive wooden desk and looked out over the floor. He cursed under his breath, turned quickly away and raced from the room. Margaret looked at her father, who merely shrugged, but rather than wait for him to decide whether to follow Williams from the room, she hurried after the overseer.

Williams scurried down a different hallway, and through another door, and suddenly, they arrived at a platform-like roost overlooking the floor. Looking around, Margaret suddenly understood William's haste to get to the floor. Mr. Thornton was in hand to hand combat with another, much larger man, and if the blows he was taking were any indication, Mr. Thornton was being pummeled.

Without thinking of her own safety, she followed closely after Mr. Williams who approached the two men, neither paying any attention to them.

Williams yelled at the man punching Mr. Thornton, who was quick to yell back in a thick accented voice, "Stay out of this!"

She called out to Mr. Thornton, but was unheard. She slowly crept forward, trying to stay out of the fray, but hoping to help Mr. Thornton in some way. Williams pulled off the bigger man, and she thoughtlessly reached forward for Mr. Thornton's arm to do the same.

Instead of stopping him, his sharp elbow caught her in the corner of her eye with a force great enough to push her back into a pole. Pain stabbed through her head before she felt herself fall helplessly to the ground, everything going black…

John paced back and forth in front of the window of the mill house, watching his workers below in the courtyard. Everything to them was normal, except their master was not in his office or on the floor monitoring their progress. Their employer was instead in a formal sitting room waiting for Margaret Hale to awaken from her injuries. Injuries which he caused!

His temper had gotten the best of him, yet again, and Margaret was hurt because of it. When Robbie Higgins began swinging, John should have just walked away. But how could he? The man challenged his authority. At least the mill was almost deserted when it happened, everyone on their mid-morning break.

But what mattered most was not what the workers thought, but rather what _she_ and her father would think of him now? Good Lord, he had struck Margaret Hale! He had never raised a hand to a woman in his life, and here, the woman he cared most about in the world, he had physically injured.

"John?"

He turned from the window at his mother's voice. She, along with Dr. Donaldson, entered the sitting room, both looking concerned.

"Well?" John demanded, none too gentle. He walked briskly and stopped right in front of them.

"She still sleeps," Donaldson said. He was a gruff man, in his sixties. He rarely showed emotions, and always spoke in a blunt manner which John appreciated. "I had to put some stitches in her head," the doctor continued. "Her eye is already swelling, and there will likely be a lump on the back of her head." His lip turned up slightly. "But, nothing broken, and nothing that won't heal."

"She has not woken up yet? Is that not a worry?" he asked.

"She will come around soon, I am sure. Likely by the time I take a look at your injuries," Donaldson said.

"My injuries?" John narrowed his eyes.

"John, you have a gash next to your lip and one on your eye," his mother said, walking slowly toward him. She rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You might well need a stitch or two."

"Please sit, would you?" Donaldson asked him.

John shook his head. "You should be caring for Miss Hale, Doctor. I will be fine." He waved the man off and stalked back to the window, furious with himself.

"Her father and Jane the maid are sitting with her in the guest bed chamber. Jane will get us if there is a change." His mother stopped next to him. Quietly, she asked, "Please let the doctor tend your wounds."

He glanced first from his mother's pleading face then to the doctor, who was nodding, before sighing and choosing the chair closest to where Donaldson stood. He watched Donaldson remove items from his leather case, setting several tools on the table next to his mother's favorite chair. He closed his eyes, preparing to get poked and prodded.

"You've sacked that Higgins boy?" his mother asked.

"Immediately," John answered. He cringed as Donaldson pushed on the cut next to his eye. "I had Williams drag him off the grounds."

"And then carried her up here."

It was hard to miss the censure in his mother's voice.

"Yes. What would you have had me do?" he asked. "Should I have allowed her to lay there so the hands could step over her as they returned to their stations?"

It truth it had been one of the greatest pleasures of his life to carry her in his arms. Had she been awake, it would have been greatly satisfying.

His mother sighed, shaking her head. "No, you could have hardly allowed that. It just looks very…. Compromising."

"Compromising? She was injured. Ouch." Donaldson put some tonic on the cut next to his lip. "I told you we are _keeping company_ , Mother. Who else _should_ have seen to her other than me? Especially since I was the one to cause the injuries? Enough, Doctor," he growled. "No more ministrations. Please go see if you can be of help to Miss Hale."

John stood and stalked back to the window, feeling useless and angry. He threaded a hand through his hair and then leaned against the window. He should have fired Higgins long before today. It would be _today_ that the Hales arrive to witness him in such a detestable position. Miss Hale had now seen his anger in full force. She was injured because of it. Surely their relationship would be through by the end of the day. With a moan, he shoveled his fingers through his hair again.

He turned to watch Donaldson pick up his medical things and leave the room wordlessly, hopefully to rejoin the Hales where Margaret was laying just down the hall.

His mother stood and hesitantly joined him at the window. "She will be fine. You heard the doctor."

"But _I_ did it to her, Mother. _I_ injured her with my carelessness and anger!"

"It was an accident." Her voice was firm. "You did not mean to harm her. If she is as exceptional as you continue to say, she will understand, John."

He nodded, but was not completely convinced.

"Excuse me, Mr. Thornton." A housemaid entered the room, interrupting their discussion. "Constable Warren is here to see you, sir." She curtseyed quickly and left.

He took a few deep breaths to get his frustration under control. It would not do to visit with the lawman still angry. Finally, he turned to his mother. "Will you please look in on Miss Hale, Mother?"

"I will." She nodded curtly. She pushed on his shoulder to get him moving. "I will check on her. Go on, then. Go see to your duties, son."

"Will she wake, Mother?"

"Dr. Donaldson said it could be some time. Mr. Hale, could I get you lunch?"

Margaret listened carefully as she regained consciousness. The women's voices were unrecognizable in her muddled, pounding head. When one of the voices, a gruff deep female voice addressed Margaret's father, she knew she had not been left alone among strangers.

"I do not wish to impose, Mrs. Thornton," her father answered, "but it seems my daughter is sleeping a bit longer than we expected her to. I would not wish to leave her at present when she may be in need of me."

 _Mrs. Thornton_! Was she still at the mill, or had they moved her to the mill house? This was not how she wished to meet Mr. Thornton's mother. She quickly realized the other female voice must be his sister, Fanny.

Memories from her accident flooded back into her mind, and slowly she opened her eyes to learn if the mill house was indeed where she was laying. Her right eye refused to open completely, and the bright light shining in the windows, bothered her left.

"Papa," she called out, not certain where he was sitting.

"Ah, you are awake my dear," his voice was soft, comforting.

Her hand reached out to take his as he knelt on the floor next to where she lay on the sofa.

"Where are we?" she whispered. She did not know how close the other women were, or if Mr. Thornton was there, as well.

"We are enjoying the hospitality of the house at Marlborough Mills," he said. "Specifically, we are in Mrs. Thornton's private sitting room."

"I see," she whispered.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

He kissed her knuckles before she pulled her hand away from him and lifted it to her pounding head to see why she could not open her eye. It felt puffy and when she touched it, it was very tender.

"My head hurts," she answered. Her hand slid to cover her middle. "My stomach is… unsettled."

Two women, one much older than the other, suddenly appeared standing over her, studying her. The older, dressed all in black except for the starched white collar at her neck and lace at her wrists was formidable, and wore a stern expression. The younger girl, likely Fanny, looked nothing like Mr. Thornton, and wore a bright pink and white striped gown.

The older woman spoke first. "Miss Hale, I am glad to see you awake!" Her lips moved in what looked like an attempt at a smile. "I'm John's mother, and this is my daughter Fanny."

Margaret cringed inside. What a horrible way to meet them! Lord, what an embarrassing situation!

"I am glad to meet you, Mrs. Thornton. Miss Thornton." Margaret smiled the best she could, pained as she was.

Margaret reached for her father's hand once again in an attempt to sit up. As soon as her head moved, she felt dizzy, the spinning in her head further unsettling her stomach. She eased back into a reclining position, which eased her head's pounding and the dizziness. She took some deep breaths, calming her upset stomach. Vomiting would surely not do.

"I wish we were meeting under better circumstances," Mrs. Thornton said. "I was just telling your father that my son has been quite… anxious… for your arrival."

"I am glad to be in Milton." Margaret closed her eyes as another wave of nausea hit her. What if she had to throw up? That made her even more frightened. She wanted these ladies to like her, to accept her.

"You must relax, Miss Hale," Mrs. Thornton said. She rested a hand on Margaret's shoulder. "Our family doctor, Dr. Donaldson, has been to see you. He said you will be well, but you must take it slowly."

"I see," Margaret said. "Thank you." She swallowed. All she wanted was the pounding to disappear! "Did the doctor… did he leave something for the pain?"

"Yes, he did," Mrs. Thornton said. "Fanny, quickly go and fetch that vial on the table along with a cup of tea."

Miss Thornton disappeared from Margaret's line of vision, but she returned promptly, her wide, colorful skirt floating around her narrow frame.

"Here, Mama." Miss Thornton handed a teacup to her mother and something much smaller.

"Mr. Hale, I think you should administer it, if you would?" Mrs. Thornton handed everything to Margaret's father. "I will help her sit up. Fanny go and have Jane make some toast for Miss Hale."

Mrs. Thornton stood behind her and gently pushed on Margaret's back, slowly raising her from her prone position. She went slowly enough that Margaret's head had a chance to settle. Mrs. Thornton remained behind her, supporting her back.

"Here you go, my dear," her father said. "Take a sip of tea and I shall measure out what you need."

Margaret took some deep breaths to calm her stomach. "I'm certain I look a fright!" She chuckled without any real humor. She took a small sip of tea and handed Mrs. Thornton the cup into her outstretched hand.

"Nonsense," her father said. "Now, do drink this quickly. I doubt you will enjoy the taste."

She did as he suggested and pinched her lips with a moan. It tasted very bitter, horrible. But, if it allowed the pounding to cease in her head, it might be worth it.

"You may have more medicine in a bit, if need be," her father told her. "The doctor instructed us to give you only a small amount. I expect it will help, although you will be sleepy."

"Perhaps we should return to Mr. Bell's while I am awake and able?" Margaret suggested.

This situation, surrounded by strangers who she hoped one day may be her family, was awkward and uncomfortable. Where was Mr. Thornton when she needed her?

"I was about to take your father into the dining room for luncheon," Mrs. Thornton said.

She did not want to stay here another moment, under the intense scrutiny of these women. What would Mr. Thornton think when he saw the condition of her face? She had to leave before he arrived, wherever he was.

"Margaret if you would be more comfortable at Mr. Bell's we can certainly go," her father said. Was he as uncomfortable as she was? "The carriage is still here, of course. If you think you could manage the stairs?"

Stairs? How in the world had she gotten there in the first place? Her mind was so muddled and the medicine was already taking an effect, making her sleepy again.

"Miss Hale, while your father eats I can sit with you, if you wish?" Miss Thornton suggested. The smile on the other woman's face looked forced or fake, Margaret could not tell which. "Then, if you still feel well enough after he's finished, you can leave then?" The young girl shrugged. "No need to rush your departure."

"Miss Thornton, I thank you for your offer." Margaret kicked her legs over the side of the couch, allowing her feet to touch the ground, while her head and stomach both rolled. "I think I would rather simply go to Mr. Bell's home and into my own bed. It has been a rather… difficult… day." She ended the though with a deep exhale and slowly stood, holding onto her father's shoulder as she did so.

Moments later, with her father continuing to provide support, they left the mill house and climbed into Mr. Bell's fine carriage. Margaret leaned against her father's side as they rumbled over the bumpy road toward Mr. Bell's home on New Street. She could not remember ever feeling so poorly. More than that, she could not remember ever feeling such acute humiliation and disappointment.

She had been waiting for weeks to see Mr. Thornton again, and while she saw him, she was not pleased with what she saw…


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"I could not come any sooner, the constable had many questions and…" John paused and took a breath as he looked around his mother's fine, spacious sitting room. His sister and mother were both quietly attending to their needlework. "Why are you not watching over her? Mother, you assured me you would-"

"Miss Hale is gone." His mother answered, harshly cutting off his words. "She insisted she would fare better in her own chambers at Mr. Bell's residence and her father readily agreed."

"And you simply let her go?" Inconceivable!

"I could hardly tie her to the couch and force her to remain here, John." She snorted with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Her father was in agreement."

John had rushed through his interview with the constable, sharing the tale of the fist fight with as much detail as he could remember. Upon investigation, Robbie Higgins was nowhere to be found. The constable assured John that Higgins would be found, and when that occurred, he would forcefully be encouraged to leave Milton. The young man was a troublemaker, with a horrendous temper, who now held a vendetta against John. John had warned Williams to keep his eyes and ears open for any mischief in the making. Until the boy was caught, John would not rest easy.

"I must go," he said.

"Go?" His mother set her stitching aside and stood frowning. "Go where?"

Her look was incredulous. How could she _not_ understand what must be done?

"To Mr. Bell's home, mother." He crossed his arms against his chest. "Is it not obvious I must see how Miss Hale fares?"

"You must _not_!" She stalked to where he stood, her hands on her hips, readied for battle.

"I have injured her," he roared. How could his mother question his obligation? "Physically for certain, and no doubt her feelings as well. How can I _not_ go to her?"

"My son, she would not wish for you to see her in her current state." She calmly rested a hand on his sleeve. "Give her this evening to heal and see her in the morning." She paused several heartbeats before adding, "If you must."

" _If I must_?" His chin lowered as his eyes narrowed. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Fanny," his mother turned toward the girl who was silently staring raptly at them, "go to the music room and practice your piano."

"But I already practiced today, just after Miss Hale left!" Fanny whined.

"Fanny!"

"Oh, very well!" She threw down her stitching on the chair as she rose. "Why I am never included in family discussions, I do not know." She glared at John as she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

His mother cringed.

"So?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and bent over his much shorter mother.

"Sit," she said, waving toward a chair near the window, as she returned to her usual chair.

He debated whether to defy her, just because he was an adult and could. How many men in their thirties still complied with their mother's demands? He decided this was not worth the fight, and sat quietly, waiting to hear her explanation.

She folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze. "When I suggested you find a bride in London, I was quite serious. I know your worth. You are a fine looking man, John, well-respected in industry and within in the Milton community. Times since the strike have been difficult for you. I see the tension and ill-ease you carry with you." She sighed. "I knew if you found investors, this strain would ease. I thought a bride _with a dowry_ would be even better. I will not be alive forever, and I would like to know that someone is there to look after you…after I am gone."

"Are you unwell?" His frustration at her highhandedness suddenly changed to concern.

"No, I am as fit as ever, but this Miss Hale…" She shook her head. "She is not a'tall right for you, my son. She is _poor_. Her father is now relying entirely on the goodness of Mr. Bell for their livelihood. She will become an added burden to you."

"A _burden_?" He scoffed. "Hardly." A delight, a lover, a partner, but not a burden!

"How will you support her? If the mill fails, if the investors do not appear? How will you support her? I have no fear for myself, you understand, but a wife…" the word sound choked. "A wife such as Miss Hale, accustomed to the finest things in life." She shook her gray-tinted head. "Can you not see what she is about?"

"You have misjudged her, mother." He was certain of it. 

"She may have all the airs and graces of a fine lady, but she has been merely a _companion_ to her cousin. A companion, John. She is the _poor_ relation."

"Enough," he grunted. "You are telling me nothing I do not already know." 

"Has she bewitched you, then? Has she cast some sort of spell over you? Oh John… you have not compromised her, have you? The spectacle today of you carrying her from the mill was quite scandalous enough, but did you cause talk in London?" 

He shook his head. Had they not discussed this already? He could hardly have left her laying in the mill, needing medical help, her bleeding head staining the floor. He closed his eyes, willing that awful vision to leave his head.

"No, mother," he said. "What do you take me for? I care for the woman. I respect Miss Hale, and would do nothing untoward. I have never been inappropriate with any woman, and certainly not Miss Hale." He sighed. It was time to place it into words for her. "She and I are quite well suited, and I did not ever set out to marry a fortune, despite your frank suggestion. I want a woman who I could abide…" he shrugged, "someone who makes me happy. Miss Hale will fit in well with our society here in Milton and I did well in hers in London. She has had other fine suitors. In truth, I am _honored_ that she has agreed to allow me to court her."

She closed her eyes on a sad sigh. "Nothing I say will matter? Is that the way of it?"

He fixed his gaze upon her. "Do you have any reservations about her beyond her lack of wealth?"

"None whatsoever!" She answered, her eyes flashing.

He doubted her, but hoped that it was the truth.

"However," she continued, "I do know the _type_ of woman she is. I have kept them away from you for many years already."

" _Type_ of woman?" he asked quietly.

"A fortune hunter. A money grabber. A hoity-toity miss who sees you as the salvation for her and her father."

He sighed. How had she been able to form such an opinion of Miss Hale after one short encounter?

"No mother, you have misjudged her. You have not even engaged in a conversation with her as of yet, have you?" He shook his head. "Miss Hale knew the precise reason I was in London. I told her from the start I was seeking investors because the mills were struggling. There was no pretense." He shook his head. "She knew from the first that I am a manufacturer that I rely on daily labor for wages. She was given no illusion of extraordinary wealth." _And she still wanted my attentions_.

"Have you placed her on a pedestal then? She can do no wrong in your eyes? A veritable goddess among common men?" She clucked her tongue, scolding him.

He laughed at that. "I am attached to her, mother. I do not look at her as anything other than a fine woman who I enjoy spending my time with. She makes me laugh, she makes me happy." 

"In London she did. But in Milton? Here you have great responsibilities. How will you be able to spare the time to court her?"

"I will find the time," he said.

With their time in London, followed by frequent, almost daily letters over the past few weeks, he and Miss Hale had come to understand one another quite well. He had no doubt of their compatibility and was quite looking forward to spending many enjoyable hours in her company, even if his mother was not.

"You are determined to have her?" she asked again.

After a slight pause, he answered, "I am. If she will have me." He stood and began to pace in front of the window. "I do not intend to hurry things, you understand, but rather hope they will progress in a natural fashion now that she is here in Milton. Perhaps by Christmas I will ask for her hand." He turned and faced her. "I ask that you approach Miss Hale with an open mind, that you rid your mind of your preconceived notions."

She stood and slowly approached him, her frown causing the deep wrinkles between her eyes to be more evident. "I knew when the day came for you to take a wife I would struggle. For so many years it has been just you and me and Fanny." She cupped his shoulders with her hands. "I am a selfish woman, John. While I hoped you would find a suitable bride, a wealthy lass, I prayed she would fail to touch your heart."

She rarely opened herself up to him in such a personal, emotional way. She was jealous, he realized, jealous that he would no longer be hers alone. He would now share his time, ideas and home with another woman, and that scared her.

"A marriage without love would be a long life indeed," he stated.

"Right or wrong, I have _encouraged_ Fanny to find a marriage without love," she said. She plucked at an invisible thread on his dark frockcoat. "That way, nothing her husband might do would wound her heart or touch her emotionally."

Intentionally, he softened his voice. "You are thinking of father, of course."

"I am," she nodded. "I loved him," she admitted for the first time ever. "I loved him with all my heart, and he was equally attached to me."

John remembered that from when he was younger. They were a happy, loving couple, and for a while, when his father was working and wealthy, before the ruinous speculation, the love they shared with each other was shared with him and Fanny also.

"I found love was not enough, John." She dropped her hands from his shoulders. "It was not enough to save him when there was no money to put food on the table. You are far stronger than he was, but I fear…"

"I will not succumb to my father's folly." He turned away and walked back to the window. Clasping his hands behind his back, he watched over his workers in the busy courtyard. "I learned from his mistakes and will not repeat them."

"But the finances? What will you do if…"

He turned back to look at her. "I ask that you do not trouble yourself with such worries, Mother. I'll not be rushing into anything foolish. Miss Hale and her father must establish themselves, and I will see they claim their rightful place in Milton society. He is well educated, the youngest son of a Baronet from Derbyshire. He has a family living, not large, you see, but even without Mr. Bell's employment, he would be able to support himself and his daughter. She, as you have rightfully stated, has been her much wealthier cousin's companion. Can you not give her a chance, mother?"

Quite a few moments passed before she answered. "For you, I shall."

"Thank you." He walked back to where she remained standing, pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. He knew this was a step in the right direction, and while waters would likely be rocky in the near future, John hoped in time his mother might come to accept Miss Hale.

For the sixth time in perhaps ten minutes, Margaret shifted against her pillows. She simply could not get comfortable. Pain continued at the back of her head where the doctor had placed multiple stitches, but instead of the pounding which had ceased while she'd napped earlier that afternoon, this was a stinging pain. Each time she moved, the skin on her head pulled at the stitches. She hurt in the various places which had been jarred by her ridiculous fall.

Embarrassing and so vexing! That was the best description of today, her first day in Milton. Instead of spending the evening in the company of John Thornton as she had wished, she was in her night rail at four in the afternoon, in bed, waiting for her next dose of laudanum to soothe the aches of her head and body.

Margaret shifted again in bed and sighed. Closing her eyes, she silently said the alphabet several times, hoping to fall back to sleep. Heavy footsteps sounding most like Dixon's echoed in the hallway when they stopped just outside Margaret's bed chamber she opened her eyes again. _Medicine._

After a light tap on the door, Dixon stepped inside.

"Ah, you are awake, Miss Margaret!" Dixon said. "How is that head of yours?"

The maid was entirely too happy at the moment.

"It's paining me, Dixon, but not intolerable," Margaret said. "I suppose I could take another dose of medication."

Margaret tried to minimize the level of the pain. If she did not, Dixon would surely fuss and meddle and that would simply not do. All she needed was another dose and a bit more sleep and she would surely feel like herself again.

"It is a bit early to give you any more pain killer, but I will administer it as soon as I should," Dixon said. "At present, I have come to fetch you for a visitor."

"Mr. Thornton?" She sat up quickly, perhaps too quickly, as her head suddenly spun in circles. She sat back against the pillows and closed her eyes, willing her head to settle.

"No, I'm sorry, Miss Margaret," Dixon answered. "It is a young lady who is quite… adamant that she must see you."

"Miss Thornton, then?" Would Fanny come to call on her? She hardly knew Margaret. Perhaps Mr. Thornton had asked her to come?

"No, Miss." As Dixon shook her head, the mop hat she wore fell to the side. "She says her name is Bessie Higgins."

 _Bessie Higgins?_ Who in the world was she?

"I do not know a Bessie Higgins, Dixon." Margaret frowned, digging through her muddled mind to find even a mention of the girl's name. "Did she say why she is here to call?"

"She said only that you met her brother today and that she must speak with you."

Margaret's hair was hanging loose. The last thing she wanted Dixon to do was put it into a more presentable style. After arriving home from the mill house, removing her hair from its intricate knot had been painful and taxing. Margaret had demanded a fancy style that morning, wanting to impress Mr. Thornton. How unfortunate!

"I met no man today save for Dr. Donaldson and Mr. Williams, the overseer of Marlborough Mills. No one named Higgins." Perhaps that was her married name?

"Shall I send her away?" Dixon asked.

"No," Margaret answered with a sigh. "She must have a purpose for her visit. People do not simply call on a stranger without cause."

Margaret slowly sat upright and paused, taking a deep breath. She then slowly kicked her legs off the side of the bed and allowed them to dangle.

"Is she a fine lady, then? Must I get dressed again?"

"She is _not_ quality, Miss," Dixon answered dismissively. "However, you _must_ dress. It would not do to meet someone in your dressing gown." A light flashed in her eyes. "I will go fetch one of mine. Then you, being far slimmer, will not need a corset and underthings."

"Yes, that should do." Margaret nodded. "My hair will remain lose. I can cover the swelling at my eye with it."

"I shall return."

Dixon left the bed chamber. Margaret heard her steps thumping on the wooden floor of the hallway. She would be gone for a bit, the servant's quarters were at the back of the house, below the stairs.

Gingerly, Margaret stood, holding onto one of the four posters of the bed for support. She slowly padded to the vanity table and took a seat. She covered her face with her hands, before looking in the mirror to prepare herself for a frightful sight. How hideous did she look? With a quick breath, she swiftly pried her fingers away from her face and snapped open her eyes, ready for whatever she would see in the mirror.

"Oh my!"

Her eye was even more swollen than it had felt as she'd prodded it earlier with her fingers. The ice Dixon had gone out of her way to procure had not done much to reduce the swelling, but maybe another application would help. The wound appeared to be in the early stages of bruising. She must have caught Mr. Thornton's elbow at just the right angle to lead to the injury. _So unfortunate._

To get a better view of her head, Margaret turned in an awkward fashion in front of the mirror and pulled aside her hair where she knew the stitches were. The pulling at her scalp was rather hard to miss. Although she could see where the hair was cut away, she could see no threads. The doctor's stitched must have been small, indeed. When Margaret had arrived home around the noon hour, Dixon had carefully unwrapped what was left of Margaret's braided hair style before gently cleaning away the dried blood in Margaret's hair. Sometime in the middle of her ministrations, Margaret had fallen asleep.

"Ach, lass, why are you looking at yourself?" Dixon scolded, returning with a gown hanging over her arm.

"I just had to see, Dixon. I am so uncomfortable." She pinched her cheeks, hoping to add a little color to her pasty skin.

"I shall just tell the girl below that you are not accepting visitors today."

It would be so easy to do that, but Margaret would always wonder who she was and why she was here.

"No, no." She shook her head and then groaned. "Let us get me dressed and uncover the mystery of Bessie Higgins. I will make it a quick interview and see her on her way so I can go back to bed."

It took but five short minutes to get Margaret somewhat presentable. Even if the Queen were downstairs she would not have dressed any better than in Dixon's dress and her own comfortable house slippers. The way Margaret was feeling, the idea of putting a corset and additional underthings on was simply too overwhelming. Dixon provided a strong arm of support as they descended the staircase and stopped in the foyer. Margaret leaned heavily against the wall and caught her breath. The room was spinning and the light streaming in from the front door hurt her eyes, but she was determined to meet this woman.

"I've put her in Mr. Bell's sitting room," Dixon told her quietly. "You certain you are well enough?"

 _No!_ "Yes, I shall be fine."

Margaret pushed away from the wall and together they walked down the darkened, narrow paneled hallway. When they reached the room, Dixon nodded to Margaret and walked away.

Margaret opened the door and walked slowly inside. A very slender woman stood near the window, looking out over the busy traffic of New Street. Margaret could not miss the ragged- and short- hem of her dress, or the ratty condition of her beat-up hat. Dixon had been correct. This woman was no quality, but she was a guest and would receive the respect she deserved.

Margaret fixed a smile on her face and said, "Hello!"

The girl spun on her heal, a look of surprise on her face. "Oh! Miss Hale!" She rushed toward Margaret. She took Margaret's hand and gave it a gentle shake.

"You are Miss Higgins?"

"Bessie. I'm simply Bessie." Her eyes traveled to the corner of Margaret's face. "Your eye… does it pain you?"

"Yes," Margaret answered simply. She dropped Bessie's hand. "Won't you sit down?" She waved toward the chairs surrounding a round table. "I will ring for tea."

"No, no." Bessie shook her head. "I should not stay that long."

"Nonsense." Again Margaret studied the girl's wardrobe, quickly deciding she could benefit from a good meal. "Please?" She pulled the bell cord for tea, not really giving the girl a choice.

Hesitantly, Bessie agreed with a small nod and walked to the grouping of chairs Margaret had indicated. She sat, arranging her skirts to cover her ankles the best she could. Margaret, uncomfortable in Dixon's large dress did the same.

"I reckon you are wondering why I am here?" Bessie said.

"Yes." Margaret nodded. "Dixon, my maid, told me you said I met your brother today, but I cannot recollect meeting any young men."

"You did not _meet_ my brother, Miss, but you did _see_ him." She cleared her throat and looked away as if uncomfortable.

Dixon stepped in the room, carrying a tea tray with a plethora of sweet cakes and biscuits. Margaret had slept clear through lunch, and had eaten very little for breakfast so when her stomach grumbled, it was no surprise. The maid set the tray on the table and looked to Margaret for guidance.

"Thank you, Dixon. I will pour." Margaret leaned forward and added tea to two empty cups. Dixon left them alone, shutting the door quietly behind her. "You must add what you would like to your tea. And please eat whatever you wish."

Margaret took a lemon biscuit from the tray and with her tea cup in hand leaned against the cushioned back of her chair. Bessie ate one treat quickly and reached for another. Margaret decided she would send them all home with her after their visit. Sometimes, when she lived in Helstone, her father would invite parishioners of limited means to dinner. It was a difficult balance, he once said, between hurting their pride and helping them overcome some financial difficulties. Clearly Bessie was in need, and Margaret would be glad to offer assistance.

After several minutes of enjoying their snack, Bessie refilled her cup, added some cream and sugar and appeared ready to explain why she was at Mr. Bell's home to see Margaret.

"Now I shall explain. My brother, you see, was the man that the Master was fighting today."

Margaret's eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect "O." "I see."

"I have come here to apologize for him, Miss." She shook her head and stared into her teacup. "He is not himself just now."

"Why was he fighting Mr. Thornton?"

"Robbie," she looked up at Margaret, "that's his name, was shorted wages and he was angry."

"Oh? Why did he not just ask Mr. Thornton about it? Why get into a brawl?"

"You see… Robbie was supposed to become the overseer when Mr. Williams retired next year. Mr. Thornton has been training him since last year." She set down her teacup with a sigh. "He's been coming to work late and leaving at the mid-afternoon bell and not coming back to finish the day. Mr. Thornton did not say anything until today, when he handed out our pay." 

"You work at the mill, too?"

"Aye." She nodded. "In the carding room. Robbie has been drinking too much now. Since the strike, things have gotten worse."

"But he had a good job with Mr. Thornton. If he was being groomed to take Mr. William's place, surely Mr. Thornton thought highly of him?"

"Yes. He _did._ Now the Master has the law searching for my brother." She stood quickly, anxiously. "I came to apologize for any pain you had because of him. He said he meant you no harm. Now I must go."

Suddenly the girl fell into a coughing fit, the deep, thick cough so worrisome, Margaret stood and put her arm around her shoulders.

"Oh Bessie, have a care, dear. Please sit down."

Margaret guided her to a sitting position and then quickly went to the sideboard where a pitcher of water sat among other glass bottles of colorful liquids. Ignoring her own discomfort, she poured Bessie a glass and hastily handed it to her before she returned to her seat directly across from her.

After Bessie took a long drink she placed the glass on the table and rubbed her nose with a stained hancherchief.

"Are you unwell?" Margaret whispered. Bessie's cough was unlike anything she had ever heard.

"It's the fluff, Miss. Cotton's stuck in my chest. No matter how hard I cough it don't ever clear out."

"How does cotton get in your chest? You breathe it in?"

"Aye. Day after day in the sheds, cotton floats and gets stuck inside you." She pounded her breast. "I went to work at Marlborough Mills because the Master, he put in a wheel to clear the fluff. No other mill's got one."

Margaret wanted to ask if she would heal, but somehow she knew the answer.

"Are there others in your family, Bessie?" Margaret smiled. "Are you married?"

"Oh no, Miss." Her hat shifted on her head as she shook it. "Not with the fluff."

Margaret noticed Bessie eyeing the sweet tray again. "Go ahead and have another one, Bessie. They are too delicious not to enjoy." She smiled gently. "Is it just you and Robbie, then?"

Bessie bit into a stuffed pastry and licked her lip of the clotted cream. "No. There's my Da, he works at Hampers and Mary, my younger sister. She don't work though. She ain't right in the head."

"Oh." Margaret didn't know what else to say. She busied herself, pouring more tea. "Do you live near the mill?"

"Aye." Bessie nodded. "We put up in Princeton, behind the Golden Dragon."

Margaret did not know what a Golden Dragon was, but she nodded her head as if she did. She did have a question that only one of Mr. Thornton's workers could answer.

"Bessie, is Mr. Thornton fair to you? Is he a good manager?"

"You ain't looking for work, are you Miss? Not living in a house such as this!"

"No." Margaret felt her face flush. "It's just that I am new to Milton. My father and I arrived just yesterday. This is the home of my godfather, Mr. Adam Bell. We will be living at a boy's school on the edge of town. My father is the new headmaster."

"Your voice _is_ strange." Bessie refilled her tea cup and took another biscuit. "I can tell you ain't from here."

"I grew up between Helstone and London."

"In the south then?"

"Yes, quite a distance from here."

They sat in companionable silence for a bit. Margaret studied the girl, noticed her hands were dirty and the fabric of her dress had dirty spots in certain areas. But, she was fascinated that the girl had come to apologize for her older brother's behavior. Margaret's own brother had done foolish things. Given the chance, would Margaret apologize to the family he injured?

"Master Thornton is fair and honest, Miss Hale. He don't say what he don't mean. He don't treat women bad and try to grab and touch them like the others. He works longer hours than his men and he pays a fair wage to everyone, and on time." She chuckled into her teacup. "He ain't too bad to look at, neither."

Margaret flushed again. This person was a stranger, she certainly would not confide her feelings for Mr. Thornton _or_ her approval of his fine looks.

Bessie's features wrinkled in a questioning look. "If you weren't looking for a job, why were you at the mill?"

What could she say without raising more questions from the girl? "My father and I became acquainted with Mr. Thornton and several other mill men when they visited London last month."

"He don't have a girl, if you're curious, Miss." Bessie pointed a finger at her. "I'm thinking a fine looking lass like you might turn his head." She grinned and finished the last bit of her tea.

Margaret did not know what to say, and was happy Dixon made another appearance in the room. "Miss Margaret, it's time for your medicine."

"Oh, yes."

"You have to take medicine?" Bessie's look was one of concern.

"My head hit a pole at the mill and I fell down." Noticing the look of horror and concern on Bessie's face, Margaret continued in a soothing voice. "I am fine, it was simply an accident and I will heal. Dixon, would you wrap the remaining treats for Bessie to share with her father and sister, please?"

Dixon frowned, but nodded and left the room, taking the sweet tray with her.

"You need not do that, Miss. We have plenty at home."

Margaret doubted that, but remembered her father's comment about a person's pride and decided not to question her. "It is just my father and myself. Mr. Bell is not yet in town, so these would go old quickly. I would be glad to know your family is enjoying them."

"That we will, Miss. That we will." She stood. "My Da has a sweet tooth, but sugar is so dear we don't get it much."

"I understand. Look, here's Dixon now."

Margaret stood carefully. She had been ignoring the pain in her head. Medicine would help her, and she would slip back to sleep quickly.

"Here you are, Miss Higgins." Dixon handed the wrapped sweets to Bessie and then Margaret guided the girl from the room.

"You mustn't feel to blame for your brother. You do not owe me any apology, nor does he. I hope, Bessie," Margaret took her hand, "I hope that he finds happiness. I am sorry that he has lost his job with Mr. Thornton. Perhaps… perhaps Mr. Hamper or Watson would hire him?"

"No, Miss." She sniffed and shook her head. "Robbie must leave Milton. No other Master will have him."

As they walked toward the front door, Margaret realized she wanted to know what happened with this family. If they were still in Helstone, she would visit them with her father; bring them fresh food in a basket and her father would tend to their spiritual needs. Did people do that here?

"Bessie, might I come and visit you some day?"

"Why would you do that, Miss?"

"I do not know many people here in Milton," Margaret said. "Father and I would enjoy meeting your family."

Bessie shrugged. "I don't see why not? I told you where we put up. Come any evening, Miss you'll find us at home."

Margaret opened the door. "Shall we say next Wednesday?"

"Aye." Bessie nodded and then smiled. "I thank you for the sweets and I look forward to your visit."

Margaret watched Bessie walk away, down the main street of Milton. She had no idea where the Princeton district might be, but she would find out and visit the Higgins family Wednesday.

What a curious turn of events! Margaret had not even considered _who_ John Thornton had been fighting, or _why_ they were fighting, when she saw him at the mill. Indeed, she had only been concerned with her head. She softly closed the door and when she turned, she almost collided with Dixon.

She sucked in a quick, startled breath. "Dixon the last thing I need it to fall down again today! My word what a day! Give me another dose of that awful tasting liquid, and help me back to bed. I hope tomorrow is better."

"I'd say is cannot be much worse," Dixon answered, rolling her eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Apparently, sleeping seventeen hours was just what it took for Margaret to feel somewhat normal once again. Rising early that morning had not been an option. Her head was in a rather sad state earlier, but with another dose of foul tasting liquid, and several more hours of sleep, she was ready to face the day at the fashionable ten o'clock hour.

As she descended the staircase, holding the banister tightly to avoid any possible dizzy spells, she heard male voices streaming from the dining room. Her father's deep baritone she recognized immediately, and after a few more sentences, it was rather clear he was speaking with their host, Mr. Bell.

Margaret paused when she reached the bottom of the staircase, her hand still clasped on the bottom baluster. Curious what the gentlemen were discussing, she listened closely, not at all surprised that their conversation seemed centered on the boys school where her father would be working. She smiled and pushed the door open to join them.

At first neither man reacted, but Mr. Bell was quick to take to his feet, ever the proper gentleman.

"Good morning," Margaret chirp. Stopping at the head of the table, she bent slightly and kissed her father's gray head.

"Oh my dear!" He grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Look how fine you look today! Does your head still pain you?"

"A bit yes." She smiled and dropped his hand, turning attention then to her godfather. "Hello, Mr. Bell."

She walked the short distance to the other end of the table and stood on her tiptoes to kiss the elderly man's freshly-shaven cheek. He always smelled so nice, a fragrance that made her warm inside and reminded her of the wonderful memories they had shared over the years.

"Sweet girl!" he cried, frowning at her. He gently cupped her cheek, studying her swollen eye. "How your eye must pain you!"

"A bit." She pulled away feeling self-conscious. She chuckled without humor. "Truth be told, sir, it is my pride that has taken the hardest blow."

She took a seat next to him and poured herself a cup of tea, her father said, "Nonsense! Margaret you have no reason for that."

A maid put a warm plate of food in front of her, and Margaret dug into her eggs with unusual gusto. Yesterday she'd had no appetite, today she was famished.

"Margaret, Mr. Bell and I are going to the school this morning." Her father set his napkin next to his plate and sat back in his chair, looking relaxed. "Would you like to join us? I am quite anxious to have a look at where we'll be living."

She nodded, chewing on her ham. After swallowing some more lukewarm tea, she said, "I would very much like to see our new home." She smiled at her father and then winced at the pain on her face.

"I fear you may be disappointed, Margaret," Mr. Bell said. "The housemaster's home is not grand, but I am quite certain you and Dixon will do wonders to make it a comfortable abode for your father." He saluted her with his teacup.

"You give me too much credit, sir." She laughed. "Decorating is my cousin, Edith's forte, but I will do my best to make a nice home for Papa."

"I have not mentioned this to your father yet," he cleared his throat, "but I would welcome your company here permanently, Margaret." Mr. Bell smiled softly. "Although I spend far more time in Oxford and London, when I come home it would be nice to see your lovely face."

She frowned. "You mean for me to live _here_?" Her hands widened. "In your home?"

"Yes." He nodded. "The lodgings at the school are rather small, I thought perhaps you might be more comfortable here."

She looked to her father to see his reaction. He merely shrugged. "Would people talk, Bell?"

"Talk?" He frowned. "Whyever would people talk?"

"Would it not appear…excuse me Margaret," her father patted her hand, "that you are _keeping_ her?"

She flushed red hot and looked down on her plate. Imagine such a thing! It happened, of course…. older men, marrying much younger women, but Mr. Bell? Was that was he was suggesting? Her stomach dropped and her head began to pound again.

"Gracious, no!" Mr. Bell quickly choked out. "Oh dear, that is not at all what I was suggesting. Not whatsoever! Margaret you must know I love you, but as a cherished goddaughter, _nothing_ more." He chuckled, shaking his head as if it were the most ludicrous suggestion he had ever heard. "Your heart has already been captured by a tall, strapping Milton mill master, anyway." He laughed harder.

He was right, of course, her heart was indeed trapped by John Thornton. If he still wished to be near her after the incident at the mill…

"But we are new in town, Bell," her father continued. "Rumors will spread."

Her godfather paused a long time before answering. "Perhaps you are correct," he finally conceded.

Sitting back against his chair, he folded his hands behind his head, and stared at Margaret. By the gleam in his eye, she could tell, he was developing a plan in his head. He suddenly sat up straight and rubbed his hand against his face before resting his forefinger against his mouth and thumb on his chin. A small smile crept across his face.

"I have the perfect answer!" He tapped the table with his fingertips. "Why, we must throw you a welcome party at the school!" He clapped his hands and smiled even wider, looking quite pleased with himself for the idea.

"A party?" Margaret asked. There was little enthusiasm in her voice and even less in her heart for a party at the moment. The thought of people looking at her swollen head and face made her cringe inwardly.

"Yes, of course! You see, it will serve two purposes." Mr. Bell took a quick sip of tea and then continued. "The parents of your students will want to meet you, Richard. And, it will give us an opportunity to introduce your beautiful daughter quite properly into Milton society."

Margaret frowned. After meeting Bessie Higgins the day before, Margaret wasn't so certain she was interested in being part of Milton society. Yes, she wanted very much to be accepted by Mrs. Thornton and her daughter, but the others… well, she was not so certain.

The mill men she met in London had been fine enough, but to be surrounded by them daily? She was not so certain that was what she wanted to be a part of for the rest of her life. But wait… if she continued her relationship with John, wasn't that what she had to look forward to? The blow-hard arrogant fools who treated their hands poorly and caused them to die early from the fluff?

She sighed. So much to consider!

"You do not look enthused Margaret!" Mr. Bell chided. "I thought you enjoyed society?"

"In London, yes." She nodded. "At least small parties, I suppose. As Aunt entertained. Intimate gatherings she called them." She laughed. They were not very small. "The larger balls were always quite overwhelming for my senses."

"So what do you say, Richard?" Mr. Bell asked, shifting his attention to her father. "Shall we have a reception for you? Margaret, if you are willing, you can serve as hostess and therefore be introduced to the first families of Milton as my _goddaughter_? Perhaps even a few new young men will enroll at the school, although we _are_ just about at capacity at present."

Her head was spinning. "I know nothing of planning such a thing. And here in Milton… where would I even begin?" How could he expect this of her, a mere girl of twenty!

"There, there dear." Mr. Bell reached out and patted her hand again. "I will see to _all_ the details. You will just need to smile and be your normal, delightful self. This is more about your father and helping him secure a position of respect in Milton."

"And a reception will accomplish that?" her father asked.

"It will be a start," Mr. Bell answered. "Now, finish eating Miss Margaret so we can be away."

He smiled kindly at her and picked up his paper again, bury himself in the daily news of Milton. She glanced at her father who simply winked at her before picking up a paper himself.

Her breakfast was cold by now, and her appetite had waned. She'd never been to a party where she didn't know anyone. The last large party she'd attended had been Edith's wedding reception.

Perhaps ten minutes later, as the clock chimed, a sharp rap on the dining room door drew everyone's attention. A young maid walked through the door, stopping next to Margaret.

"Miss Hale," she said quickly, "you have a caller."

Margaret's eyes flew to her father and she frowned.

"A _gentleman_ caller." The maid handed her a small calling card and stood back, hands folded in front of her.

Margaret looked down at the card, a bit confused, but then she saw the name and her heart sang. She pushed out her chair so quickly it almost toppled over, but she caught it with her hand.

"Papa, Mr. Thornton is here. May I go see him?"

"Of course, my dear. Of course!" His glance slid to Mr. Bell who was peeking out behind the paper, smiling at her. "We will join you in a few minutes."

She turned toward the maid with a small smile. "Please tell him I shall be there directly."

After the maid left, Margaret blurted to her father, "How can I possibly see Mr. Thornton looking like this?"

Dejected, she sunk back into her chair. Before joining her father, she had tried to straighten her hair in such a way that her injury was covered, but it proved impossible. She was angry with Mr. Thornton for behaving as he had, frustrated that she had been injured so foolishly, but she wished so badly to see him. But, how could she, looking as poorly as she did?

Her father pushed back his chair and stood. He walked to where she sat and took her hand in his.

"Margaret you must realize he has already seen you." He kissed her hand. "My dear, it was he who carried you from the mill floor after you passed out. He carried you all the way to Miss Thornton's bed chamber to recover."

"Mr. Thornton did? He carried me?" The embarrassment she had felt suddenly doubled. She covered her hot cheeks with her hands, covering her eyes.

"Margaret how else could you have arrived in the upper floors of the mill house? I certainly could not have achieved those stairs with you in my arms. But, Mr. Thornton… why you seemed no heavier than a sack of flour."

She snorted at that and removed her hands from her face. "A sack of flour?"

He chuckled also and rested a weathered hand on her shoulder. "I did not mean to infer you were a sack of flour."

"Of course not." She tapped his hand. "I must see him."

"Yes," he answered, still smiling.

She stood again, much slower this time.

"I have waited many weeks to see him," she said.

"Yes you have." Her father nodded kindly. She had spoken of him often enough over the course of the past few weeks. "I believe he must be equally anxious to see you."

"He did not come last night, though." She frowned. "Would that not have shown true concern?"

"Now, now. Do not be so hard on him. Perhaps he wished for you to have an evening to heal?" he suggested. "If you recall, he was with the constable when we departed the mill house. Perhaps that interview took longer than he would have wished? And truly, Margaret, it is just now barely beyond the fashionable visiting hour that you are accustomed to in London."

"Of course." She nodded. With a deep breath, exhale and a smile she headed toward the door.

"Margaret?" Mr. Bell's voice stopped her at the door. "Do invite Mr. Thornton to come along for our tour, if you will? I would welcome his opinion on some of the improvements I am considering."

"Yes, sir." She nodded quickly. "I am certain he would be glad to help, Mr. Bell." She had no idea that was true, but she hoped it was.

"Your father and I will retire to my study," Mr. Bell continued. "You can bring him there to meet with us after your visit."

"Yes." She bobbed her head. "Yes, I will."

She opened the dining room door, walked through it, and quietly closed it behind her. She leaned against it, her eyes closing on a sigh. Was the sudden nausea from her head or the nerves in her stomach? She took several short breaths and rested her hand on her stomach.

Mr. Thornton coughed. She heard it from the hallway where she stood, and realized he was just a few steps away.

" _It is now or never, Margaret. Get yourself moving,"_ she whispered, before heading down the hallway to face the indomitable John Thornton.

The swish of skirts drew his attention from the window overlooking the gloomy, gray New Street. John turned quickly, pleased it was Margaret and not a maid.

"Margaret!" He rushed to her, pleased she closed the door after she was fully inside. He placed his hands gently on her upper arms and with infinite tenderness pulled her close. "Why will you not look at me, my dear?"

"My injury," she cleared her throat. "My face is badly bruised."

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I know."

He caressed her cheek, and with gentle pressure on her chin, turned her face toward him. She still would not look him in the eye, but she did not pull away. He leaned forward and kissed her swollen eye with featherlike tenderness, pleased when she sighed in pleasure and moved slightly closer.

"I've missed you, my Margaret," he whispered.

She looked up at him and then quickly away. "I have missed you as well."

Slowly, he slid his arms around her shoulders and pulled her fully against him. "My dearest, I am so very sorry."

She rested her hands on his back. "For what are you apologizing?" She mumbled against his chest.

"For hurting you, for causing you pain," he whispered hoarsely.

She pulled away slightly, a cool breeze filled the space where she had been, next to his heart.

"And what of fighting with the man?"

He frowned. "Yes?" He paused. "What about it?"

"Are you not sorry for doing that?"

In truth, he was so disgusted with Robbie Higgins for letting John down, he felt like pummeling the lad again. He was not sorry for it, but it seemed she hoped he was. To her, a woman of fine breeding the fight surely looked quite dangerous.

"You are taller, older than he is," she said. "Surely, there not a better way to settle your differences?"

He held his temper. She could have no idea of the situation. He shook his head. He better explain it to her, make her understand why it happened.

"Come sit, will you?" he asked, gesturing toward the dark velvet upholstered sofa. "Will you hear me out before judging my actions?"

"I am not judging you, Mr. Thornton," she answered.

"Mr. Thornton?"

"John," she snapped, looking down at the floor.

Perhaps he should have waited another day to see her. This was not progressing as he had hoped it would.

"I am not judging you." She let him lead her to the sofa and did not move away when he sat very close to her, touching her hip with his own. "I am trying to understand these Northern ways."

She looked up at him, confusion etched in her gaze.

"I do not think it is just in the North, my dear." He brought her hand to his lips and lowered his voice. "I believe men in the south go to fisticuffs as well. I am truly sorry you were witness to my violence. I have never raised my hand to a woman, and I never will." His other hand caressed her cheek. "May I explain what happened?"

"I believe I already know," she said.

"You do? But how—"

"Mr. Higgins' sister came to call last evening. Perhaps you know her?" she asked. When he shook his head no, she continued, "Her name is Bessie. She works as a carder at your mill."

"I had no idea he had a sister." He leaned back against the sofa and rested his arm along the upper edge of the seat, his hand cupping her narrow, dainty shoulder.

"She came to Marlborough Mills because you have something called a wheel, she said. Her chest…" Margaret looked down at her lap where their hands were still intertwined. "She has a cough the likes I have never heard before, John. The _fluff_ she called it." She looked back up at him, deep sadness etched in her gaze.

"I installed the wheel two years past," he told her. "I saw it at a mill near Blackpool and decided it would be a benefit for Marlborough Mills. Our people have been healthier since I installed the device. When they are healthy they can work harder and longer. Not to mention the extra years this will add to their lives."

"All because of the wheel?"

"So it seems. In the time it has been in use we have seen these changes."

"That was kind of you," she said, smiling at him, a lot of pleasure on her bruised face.

"Margaret, do not misunderstand." He had to be honest with her. "It was a purchase that made good business sense. If my workers are healthy they will be more productive and thus produce more cotton, which will increase profits."

"You did not do it with the workers in mind?"

"I did… but only as it benefits the mill. Don't misunderstand me," he continued quickly as he noted her look of concern, "I want my workers to be safe, but I never interfere in their personal business, nor do I expect them to become involved in mine."

"But should their safety and health not be a main concern? They are beholden to you, and you to them."

He sighed. How to explain this in the kindest way?

"They are not slaves." He grasped her shoulder gently. "I am merely the man who pays their wage. They provide a service and I compensate them for it. I know many of them by their faces as I walk the mill floor, but not by name. I do not know if they are married, or have children. I know which ones are skilled workers and which ones need more training or need to be sacked."

"And that was what you were doing to Mr. Higgins yesterday?"

"I had not intended to, no." He shook his head and sighed. "You see, Margaret, for nearly a year, I have had him working side by side with Williams, my overseer." HE met her eyes. "You have met Williams, Margaret, and surely you noticed he was near retirement age. I had hoped…" He shook his head again, frustrated by his lack of judgement for relying on the young man. "Higgins should have taken Williams' job as overseer. I trusted him, and he took advantage of me. We fought yesterday because when he received his pay, he realized I had paid him only for the time he worked, not the days he left early and arrived late. I docked those wages. I had turned a blind eye for the week before I came to London as it was very busy at the mill, and I was told by Williams nothing in Higgins' behavior had changed while I was gone. I could no longer ignore it."

"Nor should you have. But why hit him, John?" she asked, shifting next to him. "Could you not have solved this rationally? Calmly?"

"It sounds weak, my dear, but he attacked me." That did sound pathetic, but it was true. "I did not start the fight. I did try to explain it to him without the use of violence, but he was angry and waited until mid-morning break to attack. I am not a fighter, he has quite a size advantage, despite my height. He knew that if he approached me during clocked hours, others would be there to defend me. I am so very sorry you were caught in the middle of it all." He chanced to lean forward, this time kissing her lips, thrilled when she responded warmly, welcoming.

He did not push too hard, however. This was new to both of them, something to be cherished. But this… this _blinding passion_ was all consuming at times and even while they were apart for these weeks, she never strayed far from his mind.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For?"

"For explaining the situation to me," she said. "I tried not to jump to any rash conclusions, but… it looked… ugly."

"You are quite welcome. I hope to share everything with you." He caressed her cheek and followed with another kiss. "Do you accept my apology, then?"

"Yes, of course I do," she said without hesitation.

Then, she shocked him by leaning in and kissing him. That was the first time she had ever initiated such contact. He chuckled against her lips.

"What?" she asked.

"Like kissing me, do you?" he teased.

He laughed harder at the very becoming blush that covered her cheeks before she buried her face against his neck. He held her close, enjoying her delicate rosewater scent.

He tightened his arms around her and kissed her temple. "I am very pleased you do. I could get quite used to spending many hours just as we are."

She pulled away and smiled. "You could hardly accomplish much work should be spend _all_ our time in such a fashion."

"You know what they say… _All work and no play make Jack a dull boy_." He grew serious remembering his mother's question about managing his time. "It will be difficult at times, Margaret, to be with you when I want to be, or when you would like me to be. The mill has been my life for so many years." He kissed the hand he still held. "Now, with extreme pleasure, I have the gift of _you_ to add to my life."

She cuddled up next to him. "What a lovely thing to say."

"I ask for patience from you as I balance work and our time together?"

"Yes, of course!" She pulled away and met his gaze. "I do not wish to take time from your work."

"I want you to distract me from my work!" He laughed. "I will now have something to look forward to when I extinguish the lamp on my desk for the night. In the meantime, my mother and sister have offered to introduce you to many of the families we frequently associate with."

"I was glad to meet Mrs. Thornton and Miss Thornton," she said quietly. "I wish it would have been under better circumstances."

"Next time it shall be. In fact, will you meet me at the mill house for lunch tomorrow? I do not often take midday meal at the house, but I will if you promise to come."

"Yes," she smiled. "As long as you will be there."

He nodded.

After a short rap on the door, it opened slowly and both of them looked toward it. John moved his arm from behind Margaret as Mr. Hale walked in, and out of respect for the older gentleman, he stood.

"Mr. Hale. I am pleased to see you again, sir." He walked forward and extended his hand.

"Today is far calmer than yesterday! That is for certain!" Mr. Hale chuckled. "She looks better this morning. Do you not agree?"

He looked back at the lovely lady in question and smiled. "She does, indeed."

Mr. Hale clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his musings. "Has she asked you to join us?"

"Not yet, Papa. He and I were discussing other things." She stood and joined them near the doorway. "Mr. Bell is taking us to see the boy's school and he suggested you might wish to join us?" She smiled and nodded encouraging him to come.

It had been many years since he had stepped inside the school. It had been an intentional avoidance on his part. The building held such wonderful memories of the short time he had had an opportunity to open his mind to formal learning. His schooling had all ended far too quickly, forcing him to become the breadwinner for the family of three.

"Yes, I should be glad to join your party," he said. "Thank you."

"Well then." Mr. Hale rubbed his hands together. "Mr. Bell is anxious to get underway, so if you two are willing to be in the company of others… rather than _alone…_ " Mr. Hale raised his eyebrows rather pointedly.

"I am quite pleased to be in company of Miss Hale, _with_ or _without_ others." He smiled and extended his elbow to Margaret. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." She threaded her small hand through his arm, a cheeky grin on her face. "We should not keep Mr. Bell waiting."

Mr. Hale led the way from the room followed closely by Margaret. In the end, this conversation could not have gone better, he decided. He had been prepared to beg for her forgiveness if necessary. His pride, where Margaret was concerned anyway, was nonexistent. Strangely rather than bothering him, it made him happy he had found a woman with whom he did not need to pretend to be anything different from what he was.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"Ah and so here we are!" Mr. Bell announced as they pulled onto a long, gravel driveway, lined with trees.

Margaret, who had been staring at Mr. Thornton sitting on the bench across from her for most of the drive to the boy's school turned out the window to see for the first time what her new home looked like. She was still all aflutter to be with him again, and while the stitches on her head were quite sore, and from time to time, she would feel a sharp pain at the back of her head where she'd fallen into the pole, she would not give up this chance of being with Mr. Thornton.

From the lane of trees, the three-story, rectangular, red brick school building emerged. Mr. Bell explained it housed the classrooms on the bottom two levels, and the dormitory for the boarders on the top floor. Dozens of windows were cut into the brick, and a large front entry door was painted a bright, welcoming red. Margaret had never seen a boy's school before now, but she thought it looked rather hospitable.

Mr. Bell's carriage pulled to a halt in the round drive directly in front of the entrance. Mr. Bell was the first helped down by his driver, followed by her father and then Mr. Thornton. He was quick to grab her hand and help her down before offering the same assistance to Dixon.

It was a beautiful summer day. Although they were not far from the heart of the hustle and bustle if Milton, the grounds felt rather bucolic, complete with trees and birds chirping. She'd not seen much sun since arriving days earlier, feared fog and damp weather was all that the city had to offer. The grounds of the school felt a bit more like London to her.

"This is the main school building," Mr. Bell stated. "At one time it was a home for the Bridger family. When the last heir passed away, I was able to purchase it, and with some renovations convert it into a school for the finest boys in Milton and the surrounding areas."

"It is larger than I anticipated, Bell," her father said. She could see some worry appearing in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, but she knew he could handle this new situation. She would be there to support him each step of the way.

Mr. Thornton, having attended the school, was well aware of its history and arrangements. He probably knew the building better than Mr. Bell, but he listened quietly as the older man continued to describe how he created classrooms from sitting rooms.

After droning on for quite some time, Mr. Bell cleared his throat. "You can tell, perhaps, I am quite passionate about this school. That is why I personally chose you, Richard, to carry on the fine reputation that the school is best known for." He clapped her father on the shoulder. "I'm certain, Margaret, you are more interested in the living quarters?"

"Yes," her father answered before she could. "That is precisely why Dixon has accompanied us. She and Margaret will have to make some decisions for our new home."

She had somehow known the details would fall entirely upon her shoulders. Her dear Aunt Shaw had helped arrange everything in London, but now… now the arrangements must be hers. Mr. Bell guided them to the side of the main building. A smaller, two story building was a short distance away. She assumed that was the headmaster's house where they would live.

The crunching of gravel under their toes was the only noise for a bit. The building and yards were silent, eerily empty, with the students at home on break, awaiting the new term which was slated to start in under a month's time.

"Mr. Hale," Mr. Thornton spoke finally, "I would be pleased to scare up some lads later this week should you wish to move in quickly? There are many young men willing to work long hours for a few extra shillings."

When her father stopped walking, they all did. Mr. Bell took several steps backwards toward them.

"Why that sounds marvelous, John," her father said with real enthusiasm. "I was curious who we could find to help move in the furniture. Now all we need is to see where we shall lay our head, eh Margaret?"

"Yes, Papa." She tried to feel excitement, but this was all quite overwhelming. "I'm quite certain it will all settle itself rather nicely."

She really wasn't certain, but she could tell her father was a bit piqued today, and the last thing she wanted to do was to cause him more concern.

Mr. Bell began walking again. The lane between the school and their house was lined by beautiful trees, several with wooden swings hanging from their limbs. There was a large green area, which Mr. Bell called the _park_ and explained that the boys were to exercise there on a daily basis. There were balls and sporting equipment provided by him for the school. A bench was under another large, drooping leafy tree which looked like a perfect spot to read on warm days.

"Are you well?" Mr. Thornton asked her.

"Yes." She nodded quickly, but she was feeling a bit warm. If she were not in his company, she would have asked Dixon to open the buttons at the back of her neck.

"Are you warm?" he prodded.

"I am, but not intolerably."

She could not let her father down. It was important to him that she accompany him today, just as it had been important for him to go to the mill with her when they first arrived.

"Please let me know, Miss Hale if you begin to feel unwell." He threaded her hand through his arm and pulled her close.

"Will you carry me away again?" she whispered, too quietly for anyone to hear but Mr. Thornton.

He looked stern for a moment and then suddenly cracked a smile. "Yes, I should be pleased to do so if you need me to."

"What if I simply _want_ you to?" She had not flirted with him that day and it was about time to tease him a bit.

He stopped suddenly and she flushed. Oh dear, had she overstepped?

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Nothing." She tightened her hand and his arm. "Come along."

Once they were moving again, he said, "I heard you, my dear. All you need is to ask. I am at your service."

She flushed further, but smiled, pleased he was not offended by her bold, forthright suggestion. Images of him carrying her floated in and out of her mind and she found it very difficult to concentrate on anything Mr. Bell and her father were discussing. She said no more until they reached the small house behind the main school. It was a smaller version of the school, with the same brick, windows and door color.

"Here we are, Margaret!" Mr. Bell said, turning to her. "What do you think? It is small, for certain, smaller than the vicarage at Helstone, but, I have faith you and your father and Miss Dixon will be quite comfortable here!"

"Shall we go inside?" her father asked Mr. Bell.

Margaret studied the brick, and noticed a crack in one of the windows along with overgrowth surrounding the entryway. When she realized they were waiting for her to enter first, she disengaged her arm from Mr. Thornton and quickly moved ahead, followed closely by her father and then Mr. Thornton and Dixon.

She turned the doorknob and walked inside. Immediately she was assaulted by the smell of dust and something else foul. It needed a good airing for certain, and on a hot day as it was, the lack of air was stifling. The foyer was large, with a high ceiling, and the foot of the staircase was quite a distance inside, providing room for all five of them to comfortably stand inside.

"The foyer, as you see," Mr. Bell continued his tour. "If you will come this way," he pointed to the left, "I will show you the room most often used as a study and an area where you can tutor, should you decide to do so."

"Oh yes, Mr. Hale," Mr. Thornton said quickly. "I have been meaning to repeat my request for your services."

"Services?" Margaret asked. Curious…

"Yes." Her father nodded quickly. "Before he left London, Mr. Thornton asked if I might consider reading with him."

"I wish to continue my study of Greek and Latin, Miss Hale." His excitement was contagious and soon she was smiling, too. "When I was last at this very school, those were the areas I most enjoyed. Until now, I have not had anyone to study with. Your father has kindly offered to tutor me."

As that meant more time at their home, Margaret was quite pleased by the idea. "Those are father's favorite areas as well. The Iliad remains his favorite piece of literature."

"Indeed it does," her father agreed quickly. "I revisit it each year. I should be glad to do so with you. Mr. Thornton."

"And yet day in and day out, math is the area you find yourself entangled the most?" Mr. Bell asked.

"Quite right," Mr. Thornton agreed, a look of chagrin on his face

She wondered for the first time what he might have been like had he not been forced to leave school and work at such a young age. Would he have become an attorney like Henry? Perhaps he would still have gone into business but in a different industry all together?

"I will be pleased to start your lessons as soon as Margaret gets us settled." Her father rested his hand on her back and directed her down the hall. "This room will work quite well for those purposes. Do you not agree, my dear?"

The room was empty, save for a large bookcase against one wall and an old, battered chair near the window. Perhaps it was the favorite of the former tenant? It seemed lost here, with nothing else to keep it company.

"Yes," she answered. "It will do very well for that."

They moved on, toward the back of the small house.

"Here you see, is the dining room and just beyond, the kitchen. The last headmaster was a bachelor gentleman and ate his meals with the boys. There is a fine cook and two wait staff for the school." He paused and looked at her father. "You are welcome to do the same, but Miss Dixon is such a fine cook, I imagine you will enjoy sharing meals at home with Margaret."

"Yes, yes I shall." He smiled softly.

"Miss Dixon, I will let you explore the kitchen at your leisure. On the back right," he pointed across the hall, "is the smallest bed chamber. I imagine that will be suitable for Miss Dixon's quarters." He walked back to the front of the home, to the right of the staircase. "This has been used as a sitting room. The door has been removed and put into storage. If you wish to replace it, I will be happy to ask the caretaker to do so. He's a man about your age, Richard. I think you two will get on splendidly." He nodded to himself and led the gentlemen upstairs.

Margaret lagged behind, looking closely at the sitting room. Just as the rest of the home, it was quite empty, save for a lovely fireplace and a hooked rug in front of it. There were three windows in the room, providing excellent light from two directions. Yes, this would be a lovely room once she added her parents' treasures.

"Are you coming along?" Mr. Thornton called from the staircase, disturbing her musings.

"Yes, yes," she called back. She joined him at the middle of the staircase. "I was imagining where to place furniture. I am not entirely certain of all that my father has brought with him."

"Hopefully not the piano?" Mr. Thornton asked.

"Gracious no!" They climbed the stairs. She was winded when they reached the top and her head was pounding. There was even less air circulating upstairs than down. "He sold that for certain. I never played. My cousin Edith enjoyed it, as did Mama, but I'm sad to say I am not very musical. That is, I enjoy music, I simply am not a good creator of it."

"Fanny loves to play. I wish she did not as she is not very good." He laughed.

She chose her words carefully in answering him. "I heard her, when I was recovering in your home."

"I'm surprised the noise did not cause further pains."

She looked at him to see if he was serious, and laughed only when he smiled.

"You may wish to find a cat, Margaret," Mr. Bell called out.

He was in the room at the back of the house, pointing to a lump in the corner of the room. She moved closer and scrunched her nose when she realized it was a dead mouse. That was the odor she had detected upon entering the house as well. A dead animal! That was easy enough to fix.

"I would love a cat. Papa, may I?" She turned to Mr. Thornton. "Aunt Shaw hated animals. Thought they were dirty creatures. At Helstone there were many cats running free around the vicarage, but Mama did not want one inside, either. I'm not certain she was very fond of animals either."

"If it is alright with our landlord, I don't see why not?" He looked to Mr. Bell who nodded. "I am not a fan of mice, especially in my bed chamber." He wrinkled his nose. "You will have to care for the cat, though. I'm quite certain Dixon shares your mother's lack of enthusiasm for animals."

Margaret snorted. "She will be happy when she doesn't have to remove dead creatures from the house!"

"True, true." He nodded thoughtfully. "You may get a cat, my dear. But let us get moved in first, shall we?"

"Yes, of course." She nodded. She turned slowly in the room, looking at the wallpapers and space. "This room will be yours then, Papa?"

"There is a similar room right across the hall and two smaller rooms at the back. I believe others have used one as a nursery as it is so tiny. Perhaps you would like it for your dressing room, Margaret? It is right next to your room and there is a door that leads between the two rooms."

"Let us have a look, shall we?" her father suggested.

This was likely the only time Mr. Thornton would be upstairs in this home. Certainly the only time he would be allowed in her bed chamber. She wanted to giggle. Even imagining something so naughty was well... naughty.

In her opinion, hers was the best room so far. The wallpapers were very feminine with lovely pink roses. Like the room beneath it, the fireplace was decorated with a hand hooked rug, but no other furniture remained.

"Yes, this will do nicely." She smiled and turned back to the men.

"I am so glad to hear that!" Mr. Bell turned to her father. "Is it settled then?"

"Margaret, shall we call this home?" he asked.

"Yes, Papa." She nodded. "It seems we have found ourselves a house in Milton."

Suddenly, the world felt as though it had shifted. To stay upright, Margaret grabbed onto the door jamb and took a steadying breath. Her headache had been gradually worsening as the tour went along, but she did not wish to alarm anyone, so she merely soldiered on.

"You are not at all well." Mr. Thornton saw her fail and quickly wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. He pulled her against his side.

"It's my head, I think." She touched the lump at the back of her skull, just below the fancy style Dixon had done to cover her stitches that morning. As she did so, she realized her face and neck were damp. She felt clammy; hot inside, cool to the touch.

"Why did you not say something?" Mr. Thornton growled, concern etched on his face.

"Margaret! Are you unwell?" Her father finally realized she was no longer part of the tour and came to investigate.

"I think I ought to go sit down for a bit, Papa." With the help of Mr. Thornton, she moved toward the stairs. "My head is paining me and I feel a bit… dizzy and ill." Her hand covered her stomach as if that would be sufficient to keep the contents inside.

"Yes, of course my dear! Of course. Adam!" he yelled down the stairs. When the older man appeared, her father explained, "Margaret is not well."

Mr. Thornton supported her as she ascended the stairs. His hand rested on her on waist, supporting her as she walked down the steep stairs. She knew she was safe, in fine hands, but that did not prevent her from feeling poorly.

Dixon met them at the bottom of the stairs. "What in the world?" she sputtered.

"I shall be fine, Dixon. I just need to sit for a moment."

Mr. Thornton guided her to the room that would become her father's study and helped her sit in the worn, battered chair. She didn't comment on the dust that plumed around her as she took to the seat.

"Miss Dixon, would you fetch some water and perhaps a cool, wet cloth for Miss Hale?" Mr. Thornton asked.

Margaret smiled gratefully to him, amazed he knew exactly what she needed. She took many deep breaths, hoping to calm her stomach which suddenly felt like a volcano, bubbling and ready to blow. She closed her eyes, and counted to ten silently, oblivious to the activity around her. She knew she was surrounded by three men that cared a great deal about her, and while that should have given her extra peace, it did not.

"Here, Miss Margaret."

At Dixon's voice, she popped open her eyes and accepted the glass of water the maid held in her hands.

"Take small sips," her father warned.

Dixon busied herself with the wet cloth. She placed it gently on the back of Margaret's neck, patting its coolness against her skin, and then running it against her forehead. Margaret patted her hand and took the cloth from her, holding it herself, against her forehead.

Mr. Thornton knelt on one knee next to the low chair, and took her hand in his. She glanced at him and smiled, thankful he was nearby. Her father, in contrast, was pacing in front of the fireplace, and Mr. Bell had disappeared.

She took another sip of water and sighed.

"Better?" Mr. Thornton whispered.

She nodded slightly. "Yes."

Several minutes later, Mr. Bell joined them again. He walked over to her and took her other hand.

"I have called the carriage up, my dear. Patterson is prepared to take you back to my home." He smiled softly. "You will have opportunity to see the school building another day, and once your family's items are delivered, you will be hale and hearty and better able to create a home for your father."

"Thank you," she said.

She didn't want to feel weak, but she did. She could go for many hours, but then suddenly became tired and as puny as a ragdoll. Her head pain fluctuated also, but at the moment it was fierce and she was having trouble focusing on the activity around her.

Mr. Thornton stood to his full height, but still held her hand tightly clasped in his. "I will see Margaret home, Mr. Hale."

"No, I should do so," her father said.

"Richard, I have to go back to Oxford in just a few days," Mr. Bell said. "Today is the only day I have to spend with you here."

That have her father pause. He looked to Mr. Thornton.

"Are you certain you do not mind seeing Margaret home, Mr. Thornton?"

"Mind?" Mr. Thornton frowned. "When I asked to court Margaret, I did so with the full intention of a more permanent arrangement." He softened his tone and smiled down at her. After a deep sigh, he continued, "As such, that would include all difficulties big and small."

"Yes, yes, of course. _For better or worse and with sickness and in prosperity._ " Her father smiled. "How many times over my twenty-five years as a clergyman did I discuss that with prospective brides and their grooms?" He nodded. "Margaret are you amenable to Mr. Thornton seeing you home?"

She smiled. "Yes, of course. I would welcome his escort." She just wanted it to quick.

Just then, the sound of Mr. Bell's carriage arriving compelled Margaret to stand up from the low upholstered chair. Pleased when her head failed to spin, she smiled and accepted Mr. Thornton's support again. She handed Dixon her glass and cloth, and although she felt strong enough to walk without him, she continued to hold him, welcoming any excuse to be near the handsome mil master.

"After dropping them off, Patterson will come back with the carriage for us, Richard. Until then, we should go investigate the school." Mr. Bell pulled out a piece of paper from his breast pocket. "This is the list of what must be fixed before the term may begin."

"That looks to be quite a list," her father said. "Margaret if you need me, please send for me. Else, I shall see you at tea time."

"Dixon should be with you, father," she said. "She will need to take note of what must be done before we move in."

They walked back outside. Immediately the breeze eased some of the heat from her body. The house definitely needed to have the windows opened to allow air to flow through. Perhaps winters would be warm then, if no air seemed to leak through.

"I agree. Dixon will stay," Mr. Bell said. "The two of you must be off. Margaret, be certain to call upon my maids should you need to. Go have a lay down. Surely you will feel better after a nap."

"Thank you, Mr. Bell." She stopped just next to the carriage. Patterson was standing next to its door. "I am so very sorry to interfere with your plans."

"Nonsense!" He gasped. "You must take care, dear girl. You will have plenty of time to investigate all the nooks and crannies of this property. I am sorry that I cannot postpone my classes and meetings at Oxford to see to your proper installation."

"We will be fine, Mr. Bell. I thank you for your hospitality and this wonderful opportunity for my dear father." She kissed her father's cheek and climbed up into the awaiting carriage.

Mr. Thornton exchanged handshakes with her father and Mr. Bell before climbing inside. He sat across from her until they pulled away, but soon, thankfully, he joined her on the same bench seat. Her head felt every bump as they drove through town. She moaned with the pain of it all.

"Come here, my dear." He snaked his arm around her shoulder and pulled her up against his side.

She leaned in with a sigh.

"Rest your weary head." He squared his shoulder, allowing her cheek to rest against his chest.

"Thank you, John."

He kissed her forehead and she snuggled closer. She rested her arm across his waist and hugged his side before relaxing against him.

"I hope you will be comfortable allowing this closeness when you are well, Margaret." He kissed her again.

"I shall," she whispered. "I like it too much to save it only for when I am ill."

Indeed, his scent was intoxicating and his arms so very comforting. Yes, this would be repeated often if given the freedom to do so.

"Close your eyes, I will wake you when we arrive at Mr. Bell's home."

She nodded and did just as he suggested. It would be a short ride, but she would enjoy the warmth and comfort being provided.

It surprised John how quickly Margaret drifted off to sleep. Her even breathing and relaxed body pleased him. To see her in pain gave _him_ pain, and that was quite telling, he thought. He had never considered being in love before Margaret Hale came into his life, yet he now knew, without question, he was. _Quite desperately._ That _had to be_ what he felt for her. Nothing else could explain the immediate and continued attachment, attraction, and interest in the beautiful, graceful girl from the south.

He had not lived the past thirty odd years as a monk. Attractive females had fluttered through his life, some staying at his side longer than others. His mother had never missed an opportunity to parade smart, witty girls in front of him. He knew the names and pertinent information about all of Fanny's friends whether he wanted the information or not. None of them had affected him as deeply as Margaret.

"I love you." He whispered it, wanting to hear what it might sound like. He'd never said the words to anyone, not even his mother who he cherished or his sister who occupied a special place in his heart.

A smile crossed his lips, imagining the reaction Margaret would have to hearing him profess his love to her. It had to be done at the proper time, he realized. He could not simply just spew the words. It must be attached to a special occasion or experience, something that would mark a memory for them. He was convinced through actions and words that she felt the same for him. Perhaps not quite as ardently yet, but she would, once she healed and he could show her the life she could expect as his most adored _wife_.

He shifted slightly, absorbing more of her slight weight. She mumbled something unintelligible and then drifted right back to even breathing. What a privilege to study her so closely, without worry of being caught staring. The skin of her face was flawless. The hand which had latched onto his waist as she drifted to sleep now had slipped to his stomach. He covered it with his free hand, amazed anew at how petite she was. His hand simply engulfed her tiny one. He laced their fingers together and rested his head back against the seat.

It seemed he had some plans to begin constructing. Creating a personal life… that was fundamentally what he had to do… was something unfamiliar. He wondered how other men learned how to go about a courtship, and how to judge the right time to move on to a betrothal and marriage.

Did fathers tell their sons such ways of women? He'd missed having a father for many things when he was younger. It never occurred to him so far into his life as an adult that he would still be in need of a father, a male influence. The faces of older, married mill men ran through his head, but he rejected each as a mentor or confidante, in kind. They were business associates, not personal friends. He imagined an awkward conversation, one in which might end in his embarrassment.

Of course, there was Mr. Bell. For so many years, he had relied upon the older gentleman for business guidance and mentoring. Perhaps he could consult him about Margaret, however, as the man was still a bachelor well into his seventies, he was not, perhaps, the best man to consult. But who then? He could hardly ask Mr. Hale how to proceed with his daughter.

He held back a chuckle. The answer was sitting in his lap all along. He would simply need to talk to the woman, and together they would plod through this courtship. He would learn more about her likes and dislikes and hopefully be able to meet her needs and make her happy enough to stay in Milton with him forever.

He shifted again as the driver pulled onto New Street. They were a mere three blocks from Mr. Bell's home, and Margaret needed to be awake when they arrived. He shook her shoulder gently and called her name.

He watched her eyes pop open, and after blinking several times, she moved to sit upright.

"I must have fallen asleep." Her voice was husky, thick from her sleep.

"You did." He moved away a bit, but continued holding her at his side. "Do you feel better?"

"I do." She covered her mouth as she yawned. "I am still rather sleepy." Her head rested against his shoulder.

The carriage pulled to a halt. "Let us get you inside and one of Mr. Bell's maids can see you back to sleep? Perhaps some more medication will help?"

"Yes. I believe you are right," she agreed.

"I'll step out and help you down."

John slowly moved his arm from around her shoulder, caressing her back as he withdrew. He kissed her quickly, uncertain if he would have the chance once they got inside the house.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled, and leaned forward to pop open the carriage door. He stepped out, and held up a hand to help her down.

Once she was on solid ground, he closed the door, replaced his tall hat and guided her to the house. The butler, named Havens, opened the door immediately for them.

"Could you ring for Milly, please?" she asked the butler.

"Yes, miss, I shall. Will you be needing anything else?" He looked between John and Margaret.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked John politely.

"No." He shook his head. "As much as I would like to spend more time with you today, I cannot."

"Thank you Havens. I just need Milly's assistance."

"Yes, Miss." He nodded. "Good day, Mr. Thornton." He bowed and walked down the long hallway to the back of the grand home.

"You must go to sleep." He caressed the side of her face and then took her hand. "I must go and try to get some work accomplished this afternoon. Tonight, I dine with the other mill masters for our weekly meeting."

"I see."

He tipped her chin up. "Will you come to the mill house for lunch tomorrow? My mother is anxious to know you better."

"Yes, I would be pleased to do so," she said. "I will sleep later in the morning and should be well. Will you be there?"

His smile widened. "I would not miss the opportunity to be with you, Margaret. If I did not have my master's meeting this evening I would not leave now. I would wait while you napped and share tea with you, but as it is…"

"Don't be foolish, sir. I understand you must work." She squeezed his hand, and then stepped up on her tip toes to kiss him softly on the corner of his mouth. "You must go, but know I will be thinking of you."

The sound of a throat clearing the end of the hall drew them apart. He smiled at her and kissed the hand he was still holding. Milly the maid came to stand near them, as a signal for him to leave. He glanced at the maid with a smile, hoping she would treat Margaret with exceptional care.

"We dine a twelve sharp," he told Margaret. "Shall I send the carriage for you?"

"Yes, I think you must. I am not certain what Mr. Bell's plans are and I would not wish to presume to use his carriage without permission."

"Very well. I will see to it." He kissed her hand again, while meeting her eyes. "Until tomorrow."

She squeezed his hand and followed him to the door, which he opened. "Thank you for coming along today."

He nodded, replaced his hat and walked through the opening. The door closed quietly behind him, and it was rather tempting to look back and see if she was watching him from a window, but he didn't. Instead he tried to concentrate on what he must accomplish that afternoon to ensure he could dine the following day with her at the mill house.

His mother would get used to the idea of their courtship. At least he hoped she would. Margaret had been in their lives only a month, and because his mother was not in London when they met, had not shared those precious early days with them, she could not possibly understand his rapid attachment.

Involving his mother as much as possible as he and Margaret drew closer would be essential for Margaret's acceptance in the Thornton family. He must take the courtship slow, not for his benefit, or Margaret's but rather for his mother. She would need to learn to share his time and attention, as well as a house with another woman.

And then there was Fanny. Margaret and Fanny were very different people, and the girls that Fanny associated would not necessarily be of interest to Margaret. While the girls were virtually the same age, Margaret seemed so mature, not nearly as silly as Fanny. Perhaps he had babied his sister too much. Margaret, he believed, had never been spoiled, despite all the opportunities she'd been given in London.

He continued his trek across town to his Marlborough Mills. As he'd realized during the carriage ride, he had much to plan out in order to make everyone in his life happy, most especially himself. It was time, he decided, to put himself first. Not his mother, not his sister, not his mill or his workers. Himself. As long as Margaret remained in Milton and allowed him to spend time with her, he would be content. He must decide how to balance that time with Margaret, with work and his family obligations. Only then would he find perfect happiness for _everyone_.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Margaret glanced down at her mother's heirloom gold watch pinned to her left breast, concerned she would be late for lunch with the Thorntons. The Thornton's carriage had arrived at Mr. Bell's home early enough to fetch her, but the traffic along New Street seemed indomitable. She was not certain what might be causing the delay, nor did she particularly care. What she did want, however, was to arrive by 12:00 _sharp_ , just as John had instructed the day before.

One thing she had come to realize about Mr. Thornton was he was rather rigid. Time-keeping was vitally important to him. Unlike many men in London, he was not a lounge-about. He moved through life with a set purpose, which she found quite endearing. As a man of business, schedules and appointments and meetings would likely run his day, and that may well prove difficult for Margaret to find a niche in his life. She'd known that all along, of course, but now faced head to head with the reality, she wondered if it would be as easily managed as she had hoped.

Finally, the Thornton's fine carriage began moving once again. A glance out the carriage window gave Margaret a clear view of the calamity which had restricted her travel. A laugh escaped her throat, for not only was a produce cart overturned, but the horses from a fancy, gilded carriage were standing atop of the vegetables, having themselves a hearty snack. Their break had turned a two lane road into a single row, blocking the street. She laughed again, and took in every detail of the incident, prepared to share the story with the Thorntons at lunch.

Despite the delay, the carriage pulled under the iron gates of Marlborough Mills with ten full minutes to spare. After the driver helped Margaret out into the colorless, grey day, he immediately climbed back atop the carriage box and moved the vehicle from the mill's entryway. He had already been stuck in one traffic jam, he likely did not wish to be the cause of another.

She studied the dusty courtyard where many people milled about, some loading hefty sacks into wagons and cart, and others cleaning up behind. Some looked at her with undisguised interest while others were a bit more subtle in their study of her person. Uncomfortable, she moved away from the center where she'd been dropped off, toward the side of the yard, but continued to watch with rapt interest the labor being conducted.

The women in the yard all looked much the same, dressed in plain, ruddy colored, perhaps once white cotton dresses, their hair piled up under mop hats. The men were uniformed in dark clothing in shades of brown and olive; serviceable but lacking the fashion sense of Londoners. Their attire was such a contrast to her own attire; her favorite robin's egg blue dress with pristine white lace at her collar and cuffs.

 _I am so out of place here._

She turned from the yard to face the three-story grey, brick part of the building where the Thornton's lived. Their front door was on situated on an angle, and it held a lovely wreath of brightly colored summer flowers, the only color evident in the whole mill yard. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, and prepare herself for meeting Mrs. Thornton again, when suddenly she heard a woman's voice call out to her.

"Miss Hale! Over 'ere!"

Despite the noise from the bustling and busy courtyard, Margaret noticed Bessie Higgins almost immediately. It helped the girl was waving wildly to her. Margaret responded by waving back, much more calmly, and moving to where the girl sat on an empty cart, with another woman of a similar age.

"Hello, Bessie!" she called out with a smile.

"Miss 'ale, you are looking quite fine." Bessie popped off the cart and stood. "Your eye looks just abou' 'ealed."

Bessie was talking quickly, with a thick Milton accent still unfamiliar to Margaret. She answered, "Yes, my eye is feeling much better," and hoped that was the answer the girl was seeking.

"Sarah, this is the lass I been tellin' you abou'. The one who got hit when Mr. Thornton was giving me brother the what for." Bessie turned back to her with a smile. "Wha' brings you back to the mill?"

"Oh." Margaret swallowed. "I am visiting with the Thornton's today."

Bessie whistled through her teeth and gave her companion a curious look.

"The dragon lady's letting you in the house?" Bessie made a perfect "O" with her lips.

"Dragon lady?" Margaret chuckled. What an odd way to describe someone.

"Look up at the window, Miss." Bessie tipped her chin up to the upper floor of the mill house.

Margaret turned to follow Bessie's line of vision and saw someone in the upper window of the mill house, looking down at her. She couldn't see the person's face clearly, but knew at once the person was too short to be Mr. Thornton, and not blonde like Miss Fanny Thornton. So, if it was not a maid that meant it had to be Mrs. Thornton as no one else lived at the mill.

"That be the dragon lady of Marlborough Mills," Sarah voiced in a conspiratorial type whisper. "I wish you luck, Miss. She don't like nobody but Mr. Thornton. She walks the floors of these here sheds like she be the Queen, she does." Sarah nodded vigorously.

"I see." Margaret looked away from the window, feeling more trepidation than she had even minutes earlier. Knowing Mr. Thornton would be there helped ease the concern… a bit. "I best be on my way, then. I would not wish for the dragon to set me on fire." She winked at Sarah trying to make light of the situation and ignore her thumping heart. "Bessie, I'll be stopping by to see you."

"Sure you will." Sarah scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"No, truly, I shall." Margaret frowned and moved forward. "I will come Bessie."

"I 'ope you do, Miss. I been telling me Da abou' you. He's thinkin' I made ya up."

Margaret laughed. "I will see you soon." She squeezed Bessie's hand and nodded goodbye to her friend before turning away.

She looked back up at the window, pleased to see them all empty, and then walked but the few necessary paces to reach the front door of the mill house. How strange it must be to live day in and day out among so much chaos and industry. She banged the knocker twice and stepped back so she could continue to study the workers. Surely their lunch whistle would soon sound. She'd heard it clear across town at Mr. Bell's home. How loud it would be here!

Heavy footsteps sounded behind the door and soon a woman in her later years opened it a crack. "Yes?"

"I am Margaret Hale." She used her finest London voice. "I believe I am expected?"

"Yes ma'am." The uniformed maid opened the door wider. "Please do come in. Mrs. Thornton is expecting you."

Margaret walked inside the grand foyer. Although she had been there just days before, her head had hurt so badly that she could not recall even seeing this. What a contrast to the dusty conditions just outside the door!

The maid waited patiently for Margaret to remove her hat and gloves. She handed them to the gray haired woman, along with her small pocketbook. Once the items were set aside, the maid guided her up a marble staircase toward the second floor. Again, Margaret felt the difference between the splendor inside these walls and what she had witnessed outside. It was as if two separate worlds operated side-by-side, with little interaction. Amazing!

The upper hallway was decorated with fine paintings Margaret would love to spend time studying further. She caught herself drawn to one in particular but after a sharp cough from the maid, she stepped away and continued to follow her through the orderly home. They passed two large, sparsely decorated rooms before stopping.

"Wait here, please," the maid instructed. She rapped lightly once on the door and after a gruff grunt from the other side, she stepped inside and announced Margaret's arrival, just as a clock somewhere in the distance began to chime.

She jumped as the noon whistle blew. She had even expected it, even, and yet the sound was so loud it scared her.

"You will get used to it." The maid smiled gently. "Mrs. Thornton will see you now."

"Thank you." At least the toot of the whistle was short lived, but now she had a much more daunting obstacle to fear. _The dragon of Marlborough Mills._

Mrs. Thornton was standing at the window, the light silhouetting her dark form. Did she always wear black? Margaret could not remember much about her encounter with the woman days earlier, but she did recall she was dressed fully in black, much as she was today, much as John typically was, as well.

"Hello, Mrs. Thornton," Margaret said as a way of announcement. "I thank you for the kind invitation to visit today.

"Miss Hale, it was good of you to come." Mrs. Thornton moved from the window toward her. "I'm certain with your move to the school your time is rather limited at present."

"Please, do call me Margaret." She took Mrs. Thornton's extended hand. "And, yes." Margaret nodded, answering her question. "I expect in the coming days to be quite preoccupied with the details of the move."

"And what do you think of Milton?" She offered Margaret a seat with the wave her hand.

Dare she be honest? "I am not quite certain what to think, just yet." She sat across from Mrs. Thornton in a hardback, upholstered chair and folded her hands on her lap. "With my injury, my time here has been rather limited to Mr. Bell's home."

"Yes, well…" She cleared her throat. "Your bruises seem to be fading."

"I believe so, yes. It's my head which continues to hurt from time to time." Margaret tapped the back of her skull where Dixon had skillfully covered her stitches with small braids.

"Dr. Donaldson warned us that head cuts tend to bleed more than any other areas of the body. There was an excessive amount from the cut, Miss Ha… Margaret. We were all quite concerned with your condition."

"I thank you for the fine care you provided that afternoon." She meant that truly. "I know I would not have been treated with such kindness elsewhere."

An extended, rather uncomfortable silence dragged between them. Margaret wondered where John was, but dared not question it. Fanny, too, she'd expected to be lunching with them, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"Margaret," Mrs. Thornton finally broke the silence. "My son wishes for us—you and me— to become better acquainted. He has indicated that your father has granted him permission to court you?"

"Yes, ma'am, that is quite true." A smile crossed her lips, remembering the afternoon he asked her to keep company with him. "Prior to leaving London, he secured my father's approval."

"Things may be different in London, but here that is nearly akin to a betrothal. I worry…" She paused, and Margaret allowed her to gather her thoughts without interruption. "I am concerned that perhaps you two are rushing into this."

Surely to an outsider, it would appear that she and John had not known one another long enough. In her mind, however, she had well decided on her feelings for him before he came back to Milton.

"I assure you, Mrs. Thornton, I feel no great…urgency… to proceed from where Mr. Thornton and I are at present, to another… situation." She studied her hands folded in her lap, searching for a better way to explain. "I am young, quite content to become better acquainted with Mr. Thornton in time."

"That is a great comfort, Miss Ha… Margaret." She grinned, although it looked rather false. "In time, you will come to realize the power my son's name and position affords him." Now she looked downright smug. "When he does finally select a bride, she must be able to support his career and continue to bring respect and honor to his name and holdings. There is far more for him to consider in a bride than simply a pretty face."

Margaret swallowed back a quick retort and fought to maintain a serene expression. She was here to make friends with the woman, and it would hardly do to question the importance of her son. John was indeed a great force to reckon with. Margaret had seen that clearly at the Great Exhibition, when he had a rapt audience of strangers hanging on his every word in the textile machinery area. She had witnessed it from a distance as older mill masters sought his opinion while in London. He was a powerful man, but just a man... A man who seemed to be rather fond of her.

"Is Miss Thornton at home?" Perhaps if they had another in the room it would be less awkward.

"She is shopping with her close friend, Anne Latimer," Mrs. Thornton answered. "Anne is the daughter of John's banker. She has just recently returned from a fine finishing school in Switzerland." A slow smile crossed the woman's list. "She is a lovely girl. Just lovely."

"Miss Thornton is fortunate to have such a friend." What else could Margaret say?

"She spends much time here lately, _especially_ since John returned from London."

Margaret could not miss the gleam in the older woman's eye and suddenly she realized what the woman was inferring. Mrs. Thornton, it seemed, was not much different from the matchmaking mamas in London. It appeared she had chosen Miss Latimer for John, so naturally, no matter how much Margaret tried to impress her, Margaret would fall short— at least in Mrs. Thornton's eyes. John seemed no less enamored with her than he'd been in London. Margaret hoped Mrs. Thornton would not have undue influence over him.

"I shall look forward to meeting her, then." Margaret was not one to give up easily, especially not on the man she cared for.

"Miss Latimer knows Milton society well. She understands the business of cotton and the expectations here."

Margaret had had enough. She stood abruptly. "Mrs. Thornton, please stop. I understand what you are saying, but it is irrelevant to me. Although I do not possess some of the fine qualities of Miss Latimer, Mr. Thornton has decided to court _me_ , not Ann Latimer. If he changes his mind, I hope that he will inform me, himself. Clearly, ma'am, there is something about me which he finds interesting, or else he would have offered for Miss Latimer before coming to London and meeting me."

"Well said, Miss Hale."

Her head snapped away from Mrs. Thornton to John who was quietly standing in the doorway, observing her rant. How embarrassing! She couldn't decide what to do. Did she sit back down or did she move to his side away from the dragon who had just attempted to roast her.

Mrs. Thornton made the decision for her. She stood and crossed her arms against her chest. "Miss Latimer is far more appropriate for you, John. I have made no secret of my feelings on the matter, nor will I. She is wealthy, as beautiful as Miss Hale, with fine manners and a broad understanding of Milton society."

"And because _you_ believe she is superior, _I_ much bend to your choice?" He snorted. "I think not." He shook his head. "I love you dearly, mother, but the selection of my wife will be mine, and mine alone."

Margaret wished she could crawl under a rock and hide. How awkward this was! Being compared to another woman, being argued over by John and his mother. She should not be here, witnessing this exchange.

"I must go," Margaret sputtered.

She made it just to the door of the room, before John gently grabbed her arm and pulled her against his side.

"Stay with me," he whispered.

She nodded, but refused to look at him or his mother.

"Mother," he softened his tone, while running his hand around Margaret's waist, trapping her lovingly to his side. "You are quite correct that Miss Latimer has some very fine qualities, but they do not compare to what I know of Miss Hale." She looked up and met his gentle glance before he turned back to his mother. "It's not as if I am comparing quality of cotton which can easily be perceived. Miss Hale is my choice, mother. I ask that you accept it, do not interfere with it, as I have just seen, and eventually I believe you will accept her as well, even if she was not your first choice."

Mrs. Thornton snorted. "You are rushing with haste into all this. Your time in London has messed with your mind!" Her voice was rising as her frown deepened. "She is not at all acceptable, John. Miss Hale will not improve your standing in Milton or in the broader British textile industry."

"She already has," he growled. "Because of her connections, I have made two new agreements with gentleman in London. I met an earl who has already contacted me for a tour of the mills and given me further suggestions for investors. Miss Hale may not be from Milton, nor at present fully understand life here, but that does not me she will not add to my prominence. Moreover, mother," he sighed, "she brings me happiness." His hand tightened on her waist. "We are well suited to one another, and in time, you will realize this."

" _Mother knows best_ , John."

"Not in this instance." He shook his head. "In this case, I shall follow my heart and allow it to guide me to whom shall improve my life. I realized almost from the first, Mother, that Miss Hale had special qualities that I had never seen before. She is modest, intelligent, funny and warm." He looked down at her with a smile. "Beautiful, as well. She will do me proud, and indeed if I choose to increase my prominence in Milton, I have no doubt she will be by my side in support."

She nodded, but still said nothing.

"I know this will be a difficult adjustment for you." He quickly hugged Margaret to his side and then stepped away from her, closer toward his mother and took the older woman's hands. "You are my mother. I loved you first and always will. Surely you knew a day would come when I chose a wife. It was _you_ that suggested I find a bride in London, just before I left here for the Great Exhibition."

"I anticipated you locating a _suitable_ wife, John."

"And I have." He sighed. "You must trust that I know best what is _suitable_ for _me_ ," he said. "You may know me better than anyone, Mother, but you cannot know my feelings and deep sentiments toward Margaret. I feel nothing for Miss Latimer, nor have I been found another woman in all my years that has touched my very soul as Margaret does. Can you not help Margaret understand the life of Milton? Can you not help her adjust to the ways of the north?"

He had not said the words, but surely, Margaret understood what he meant. His confession of sentiments matched his actions since first meeting her. She smiled, relieved to know he returned her deep regard. Calmly, Margaret walked forward and stopped next to John. She would not leave him.

She met Mrs. Thornton's cold stare. "I love your son." Where that had come from, Margaret could not say, but it was true, it was honest, and it was too late to retract it. "I am honored that he has chosen me, when there are likely dozens of fine women he could have selected instead." She placed her hand on his sleeve. "I want what is best for him, and I believe that is _me_. Knowing that I bring him happiness should be enough for you, as well."

 _Where had this strength to take on Mrs. Thornton come from?_

"That is a bold statement," Mrs. Thornton said.

 _She was right!_

"It is true and from the heart." Margaret rested her hand against her breast. "You and I both wish for Mr. Thornton's happiness and success. Surely we can work together instead of against one another?"

Mrs. Thornton did not answer. In truth she looked defeated. The older woman glanced between John and Margaret, then shook her head with a sigh.

"Please, Mother?" he pleaded.

"Are you engaged to be married, then?" she asked quietly, looking between them for the answer. "Is that what you are telling me, son?"

Margaret looked up to John, curious what he would say.

"I have not asked for her hand yet," he admitted, looking at his mother, not her. "Nor have I received her father's blessing. But I fully expect that will all happen in due time."

So much for a romantic surprise. At least Margaret knew what his plans were. Courtships inevitably led somewhere, either to marriage or separation. It was a comfort to know he was leaning the same direction she was.

"I suppose you have given me no choice but to accept it," Mrs. Thornton said.

"I had not intended to discuss our relationship with you just yet, Mother. Had you said nothing about Miss Latimer, I would not have brought the subject up today. You would have come to know Margaret and understand why she is so special to me, and then... Well, if she would have me, you would have had time to become prepared to accept her into our family. You have hurried us."

"Mr. Thornton, your mother did not wish for me to form an attachment to you when she believed your interests were elsewhere." Margaret knew that was not the truth, understood the elder woman just wanted her to go away so John could wed Miss Latimer, but she would not let the woman know how far she had gotten under her skin. "Thank you for suggesting I proceed with caution, Mrs. Thornton." She reached forward and took her hand. If ever there was a time she needed to put on an act, it was now. "Mr. Thornton is very correct when he says I will need your help navigating Milton society. I hope… I hope you will be willing to help me. Having recently lost my dear mother, I am quite certain I will need your guidance."

"There now, Mother! You have a new project to undertake," he chuckled. "You must help Margaret settle into Milton."

She sighed. "I shall do my best." She did not look pleased at the prospect, but Margaret believed she would do whatever John asked of her. A clock in the distance chimed once. "We should go into the dining room now."

Mrs. Thornton walked ahead of them, her head held high. Mr. Thornton held out his elbow and Margaret latched on, amazed she had made it through that exchange in one piece. Her head was pounding, likely from lack of food and the stress of the situation than from any true residual pain from her accident. She did not know what to say to him, felt immensely embarrassed by what she admitted minutes earlier.

As they reached the door to the dining room, Mr. Thornton stepped aside and allowed her to enter before him. His hand, placed at her back was warm and quite welcome as he guided her inside and then followed. Once she was seated, with his help, he sat at the head of the table, opposite his mother.

"Your sister and Miss Latimer will be joining us," Mrs. Thornton told her son.

"They are late," he said, placing an unfolded napkin upon his lap.

The maids quickly poured beverages and served each of them their warm bread and soup. Margaret felt as though she were sitting on eggshells. She did not know where to look or what to say. She felt unwelcomed by Mrs. Thornton and no matter how wonderful it was to be in John's company, she was still anxious about what the other woman might say.

"Watson came to see me at the mill today," John said between bites.

She had met Mr. Watson first at Aunt Shaw's home. He was older than John, likely by a decade or more. He was a tall and skinny man who smoked a pipe nearly constantly. Margaret had not had the opportunity to speak with him at any great lengths, had not formed an opinion beyond his appearance.

"For what purpose?" Mrs. Thornton asked. She paused her eating to sip on her tea.

"He asked if he could pay call to Fanny," John said quietly.

"To Fanny?" Mrs. Thornton clucked her tongue. "He is at least twice her age."

"Yes, that is so." He nodded and swallowed a sip of tea. "He is well situated financially. He has a respectable reputation. I saw no reason to deny his request." He shrugged. "She will be the final judge whether she wishes to spend her time with him or not."

"Do you know him, Margaret?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

"A little, yes." Margaret wiped the corners of her mouth as the maid took away her empty bowl and replaced it with a plate of boiled potatoes and ham.

"Would you agree to see Mr. Watson?" The older woman asked.

Margaret swallowed. Did she hoped for Margaret to replace John with Watson? Never! John was staring at her, waiting for her response, it seemed. "No, I would not," she finally admitted.

"Oh? Why ever not?" Mrs. Thornton asked. "Surely if he is fine enough in John's mind for his dear sister, you can have no doubt of his quality."

"I am certain Mr. Thornton is correct in his understanding of Mr. Watson." Margaret chose her words carefully. "However, for my taste, he is far too old for me, ma'am."

"But as John has said Mr. Watson is well situated," Mrs. Thornton argued. "Surely that is a concern of yours, with your father no longer serving the church."

"Money does not bring me happiness, Mrs. Thornton," she answered honestly. "I have lived in a very wealthy household and a very modest home. I preferred the modest home by far. You see, I would like to share a long lifetime with the man I wed. And although it is quite true that many of my friends in London have married older men with the expressed hope of becoming widows, free to do as they wish, I cannot accept such an idea," Margaret said before cutting her ham.

"I have heard of that as well," Mrs. Thornton admitted. "Fanny, I should think, would welcome such a situation. I do not believe she has any interest in anything other than playing piano and shopping. She has never mentioned raising children or even looking forward to running her own home." The older woman sipped her tea, a thoughtful look upon her weathered face. "You will want children, Margaret, will you not?"

"Indeed." Margaret nodded, her gaze meeting John briefly before returning to Mrs. Thornton. She set down her fork and took a long drink of tea before continuing. "My cousin Edith is increasing and I am very anxious to meet her child." She smiled. "Mr. Bell has also introduced me to Mrs. Beatrice Baker who runs St. Jerome's Foundling Home, in Whitlow Street. I intend to volunteer some time there each week." She had not told John of that plan yet.

"I doubt most fine London women, such as yourself, would do such a thing," Mrs. Thornton said. "The foundling home is in a poor area of town. Are you certain you wish to travel there?"

"I do." Margaret nodded. "Mr. Thornton is a very busy man. My father will be quite preoccupied for some time. Once I have our new home in order, there will be an abundance of time on my hands." Sadly, it was true, she would find herself quite bored. "I wish to help people, as my father and mother did in Helstone."

"Milton is not your idyllic Helstone. You must be careful, young lady. As John said, you are a very beautiful young woman and safety is a concern in some areas of Milton."

Her concern was real, and it removed some of the frustration Mrs. Thornton had earlier caused.

"When you go, you will take Dixon with you," John said. It sounded like a command. "If she is not available we will send our Jane along. I do not feel comfortable with you alone in many parts of this town. You are a well-bred young woman unaccustomed to the people of my mill and many of this town."

"Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Thornton." Would he worry about her so much all the time? It was true she was inexperienced, but she was not foolish.

"Besides," Mrs. Thornton continued, "Fanny will introduce you to some of her friends, and soon you will be as busy as you choose to be."

Did she mean instead of volunteering?

"Will you be certain to tell Fanny about Watson's interest, Mother?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered curtly. "When she finally arrives home, I will see to it. Do you know when he plans to call?"

John nodded. "He will be here this evening for dinner and would like her to attend the concert with him Thursday. Margaret," he turned his beautiful blue eyes to her, "I was hoping you would attend with me. I know your father enjoys music, so I have secured a ticket for him, as well."

"Is it here in Milton?" she asked.

"Yes, at the Lyceum Hall. It is a man called Walter McNally singing music from Charles Dibdin."

"I don't know Mr. McNally, but I do like Dibdin's music," she said.

"He's not as famous as Jenny Lind, of course," Mrs. Thornton said, "but I am certain you will enjoy the concerts here. Milton has as fine of entertainment as London, Margaret."

Mr. Thornton had once said his mother refused to go to London, had never been south of Derbyshire. She wondered how the older woman would have the confidence to claim Milton offered as much as London.

"I am glad to hear that," Margaret said. "I do enjoy music."

"And socializing?" Mrs. Thornton prodded. "Do you enjoy spending your evenings entertaining friends and tittering from house to house?"

"No," Margaret shook her head. "In truth, I am rather quiet and enjoy evenings in. That's not to say I don't enjoy socializing, but not every night for certain, or even every other night."

"John have you told her of your weekly meetings and dinners?"

"I have, yes," he said. "She may participate however she chooses to. Wednesdays I meet with the fellow mill men at the club."

"Yes, I remember you mentioning that." She nodded.

"And, mother, I have decided to study with Mr. Hale two evenings a week."

"Study?" Her frown deepened the wrinkles at the edges of her eyes. "Study what? Surely Mr. Hale has no brilliant ideas to improve cotton production!"

"No, you are quite right." John chuckled. "He is, however, an expert in the classics, and I would like to pick up where I left off when I left school."

"Two nights a week?" she huffed.

"Yes," he nodded. "I vow to be home in time for your evening bible readings."

Evening bible readings? Even her father, a clergyman, did not participate in such daily meetings.

"See that you do. You need your sleep as well, my son. Many days you work too long and too hard."

Margaret decided it was best to remain silent as the two Thorntons continued to debate the hours Mr. Thornton worked compared to how much he really needed to work. It gave her an opportunity to observe the dragon without being on the receiving end of her ire.

"Margaret, are you finished with your meal?" he suddenly asked.

"I am." She nodded. "It was very delicious, Mrs. Thornton. Thank you for having me."

"I need to back to work," he stood and Margaret did as well. "Despite what my mother believes I am needed at the mill. I will walk you out to the carriage if you are ready to leave?"

She opened her mouth to agree, when Mrs. Thornton cut in.

"I was hoping she could meet with Fanny and Miss Latimer yet today," Mrs. Thornton said.

He frowned. "Margaret? What is your wish?"

How odd. The woman had earlier done her best to get rid of her, and now she was hoping to extend the visit? "Well… I could come back another day to become better acquainted with Miss Thornton."

"Yes, that might be best." Mrs. Thornton stood. "Perhaps you would join us for dinner tomorrow while John is at his meeting?"

The three moved from the dining room into the hallway so the maids might clean up the table.

"Oh… I am sorry," Margaret sputtered. "We- my father and I- are moving into the house at the school tomorrow. I do expect it will take the full day to get properly settled."

"Oh, I see. Yes, I imagine it will consume some of your upcoming time. I am fortunate to have only moved twice in my life, and neither experience was particularly enjoyable."

They reached the head of the stairs and stopped again.

"As to that… I have asked three of my stronger men to meet with your father at the storage building that morning at nine," John said. "I hope that will be acceptable?"

"Yes! Quite acceptable. How kind of you to spare your men for the day. Thank you, Mr. Thornton." She would have kissed him soundly if they were alone, but alas, Mrs. Thornton was right next to them. "I shall let him know when I return to Mr. Bell's home."

"You will come Friday then?" Mrs. Thornton prodded. "If you do, you can assist us in the addressing of invitations afterwards and remain with us for dinner, too."

"Invitations?"

"To our annual Mill Master's Dinner. I counted forty-eight this year if everyone were to accept."

Again she appeared rather smug. Surely she was pleased by the attendance, and likely only the first families of Milton were even considered for an invitation.

"Oh, yes." Margaret nodded. "I recall Mr. Thornton mentioned the dinner to me when he was in London. When will it be held?

"It is always the Friday following the Autumnal Equinox. That would make it the twenty-sixth of September this year."

A month nearly to the day.

"Friday will be fine, Mrs. Thornton," Margaret said. "I have no set plans for that day."

"Friday for lunch, it is." She nodded. "John, I will see you for dinner this evening. Good day, Margaret."

They stood silently for several moments, their gazes following her retreat down the hall, into her sitting room. When she closed the door quietly behind her, John took her hand and kissed it before threading it through the crook of his arm. "I apologize for being late today and for the confrontation," he said. They began descending the staircase. "I should have prepared her better."

"Prepared her?"

"Yes, of course." He stopped when they reached the bottom and took her hands in his. "I should have explained how important and special you truly are to me. I should have left no doubt of my intentions." He looked around briefly and then leaned forward to kiss her temple. "She did have hopes of an arrangement with Miss Latimer, and it is my fault that I did not clarify my feelings on the matter to her."

She kissed his chin and smiled at his surprise. "Now she knows."

He caught her at the waist before she could move away. "Did you mean what you said to her?" His voice had turned into a hoarse, raspy whisper.

She twisted her lips, prepared to tease. "Why yes. We are moving in tomorrow."

"Do not joke about this, Margaret," he warned sternly. "Those three little words. Did you mean them?"

"You mean… I… Love…You?" She raised a finger after each word, counting to three.

"Yes, those words," he said.

"I mean them with my whole heart, John. I had not intended to reveal my feelings to you in such a way, but Mrs. Thornton left me with little choice," she admitted.

Light pressure from his thumb tipped up her chin and he kissed her deeply, leaving little doubt of the significance to him of her admission.

"Say it again," he whispered against her lips.

"I love you," she answered quickly, and was rewarded with another, even more ardent response from John as his hands cupped her behind and pulled her against his muscular frame.

After several minutes of delightfully spent silence, he slowly pulled away, his hands moving up her back to rest at the back of her waist. He rested his head against her forward. "Love is a rather insufficient word to describe how I feel for you, Margaret."

She smiled. "Thank you." She moved her face and kissed the corner of his mouth.

He eased himself further away and took her hand again.

"We better get you home." He led her to the main doorway. "As much as I would love to further enjoy this intimacy, now is not the time and this hallway is assuredly not the best place." He chuckled. "I have forgotten myself."

"As have it." She giggled and laughed harder when she noticed the blush of color cross his cheeks.

He opened the front door of the mill house and allowed her to step out ahead of him. The weather had not changed in the time she's spent at his home. It was still gray and dreary.

"I do believe you have entranced me," she lightly accused.

"Perhaps we have both been given a magic potion for I feel quite…" he paused, as if searching for the perfect word… " _pleased_ to be under your spell, my _love_."

He walked her to the carriage and helped her inside.

"Thursday cannot come soon enough, Margaret. I will fetch you at half passed six for the concert." He closed the door of the carriage and smiled.

"I will be ready." She waved goodbye as the carriage jolted into movement.

She rested against the cushioned back of the carriage as it slowly pulled through the gates of Marlborough Mills. He loved her! She thought- prayed really- that he had shared her deep feelings, and now… now she knew he did!

She giggled and clapped her hands against her face, so happy she could hardly believe it was real! Knowing he loved her was enough for her to stand the censure from Mrs. Thornton. Margaret would prove to the woman that she was as better choice for John than Miss Latimer could ever be!


	18. Chapter 18

**Author note: There are 3 scenes, for some reason FF won't let me break them up. APOLOGIES! Also, I am in need of some sweet baby names. I would love to hear your thoughts. The one's I like best I will use in a future chapter. Thanks~ JD**

Chapter Eighteen

John shifted in his dining chair again. It had been quite some time since he had been forced to sit through a dinner as tedious and boring as this had proven to be. As expected, HaroldWatson was in attendance, paying great, flattering attention to Fanny who was lapping it up as a baby kitten would milk from a bowl.

In addition to his incessant talking, Watson was smoking at the table, with the ladies still eating, something that is simply _never_ done in polite society. As sharp as his mother had been with Margaret earlier that day, John was rather surprised she did not chastise Watson for his lack of propriety. Of course, Watson was a rich man, and his mother wanted Fanny to marry well, so his mother had been a fine, accommodating hostess for this meal. If only she had been this pleasant to Margaret earlier that day, John would not have to broach the difficult topic of his mother's distressing treatment. He never thought he would have to chastise his mother, but tonight by God, he would. She could not think her conduct toward the woman he loved—or anyone for that matter- could be appropriate, no matter the excuse!

Watson slurped up the remainder of his tea, sat back and rested his hands on his stomach. Despite his claim of attending a fine preparatory school, and supposedly attending Oxford for a time, Watson's table manners were atrocious. If Margaret were here, she and John would be sharing knowing looks and would later laugh at the oddity of Mr. Harold Watson. All he could do is look to his mother and hope she would catch the hint to keep dinner short.

"Fanny," his mother had finally caught his silent suggestion. Her voice cut through Watson's ramblings. "Let us retire to allow the men a few moments to discuss their business." Their mother stood, triggering the men to rise from the table.

He would have to compliment her on how well she had prepared Fanny for Watson's arrival. Fanny was looking particularly well that evening, and had asked Watson several thoughtful questions that their mother had likely planted in her head. While the two had seen each other over the years, this was their first formal introduction. Fanny, to her credit, seemed pleased that he was calling this evening and Watson… well he seemed as enchanted with Fanny as John was with Margaret.

"Very well," Fanny agreed. She stood and quickly curtsied to Watson with a pretty smile, before leaving the room behind their mother.

Once they were gone, Watson sat heavily. "You have any brandy, Thornton?"

He hid a smile. Had entertaining Fanny taken a toll on him?

"I do, yes."

John walked to the side table where a row of colorful bottles stood, awaiting his choice. The brandy was the fullest, fortunately, as Watson enjoyed his liquor. John picked up the bottle and filled two glasses. He handed the fullest glass to Watson and set the bottle in front of his guest. He carried his own glass back to the head of the table and sat again.

"Thinking of women, has brought to mind our recent trip south… Have you, by chance, written to that lovely little lass we met at the dinner party the first night we were in London?" Watson blew out a huge puff of smoke. "She was _quite_ a fine looking girl. I had thought…" He sat up at full attention. "Had you not shown such a marked interest, I do believe I would have pursued her."

John wanted to laugh. Margaret would never have him! She'd said as much that afternoon. "I assume you speak of Miss Margaret Hale?"

"Yes." Watson nodded. "That was her."

John felt a smile creep across his lips. Just hearing her name made him happy. Knowing other men also valued her, gave him pride. "She is in Milton at present." He sipped his brandy, refusing to elaborate. Let the man imagine what he wished. He would learn with the rest of Milton that Margaret was John's, and his alone to love and cherish.

"She and her father decided to come north, then?" Watson prodded. He cleared his throat, attempting, but failing to appear indifferent. "Where is she staying?"

John hesitated to answer, curious why Watson was showing such a marked interest. The older man was here to meet Fanny, after all, ought to be inquiring about her, not Margaret.

"She and her father are with Mr. Bell."

"Ah yes, Mr. Bell." Watson took a long drink and then sat back comfortably in his chair, resting in hands on its arms. "Do you think he takes a special interest in the girl?"

"A special interest?" He was not quite certain what Watson was implying, thought it best to clarify before answering him. "Mr. Bell is Miss Hale's godfather. He is Mr. Hale's longest friend."

"Surely… surely Bell… being so wealthy… and the Hale's in reduced circumstances…"

"What are you suggesting, Watson?" He was quickly growing weary of the man.

He shook his gray head. "Nothing… nothing at all." He finished his brandy. "I hope they enjoy their stay."

"And Fanny?" John asked, switching the topic back to the only reason Watson was sitting at the table. "Have you asked her to join you for the concert Thursday?"

"Not as of yet. I was hoping to have a private moment with her." He refilled his glass to the very top as he continued. "I think it is rather obvious I am quite interested in the dear girl," Watson said. "Tell me, how long shall I wait before asking for her hand?"

John choked on his sip of brandy and then frowned. Watson had spent less than two hours in her company and already it was decided?

"Marriage? Already? Should you not spend more time in her company before deciding such a thing?" John asked. "A marriage is for a lifetime, Watson. Perhaps it would do well for you to learn her preferences and interests before making such a hasty, monumental decision?"

"Young women have interests?" He snorted. "Shopping and spending money is what women do, Thornton." He swallowed the whole snifter of brandy and helped himself to more. John would be on the floor if he drank that much. It did not seem to faze the older man. "Her allowance will be generous, and she can pursue anything she might wish as long as my house remains in order and she smiles pretty when I get home." He winked at John.

At this point, John was rather inclined to show the man the front door. Fanny deserved respect from her husband. Although she would enjoy the freedom to shop as she wished, live as she wished, and John would certainly appreciate being relieved of her bills, Watson might not be the best choice.

"Fanny is still quite young," John said quietly, studying the liquid in his glass, considering what other arguments he might employ. Fanny was more of his daughter than sister, nearly fourteen years apart in age.

"Clearly, _I_ am not," Watson said. "Which is precisely why I am inclined to push forward at greater speed than might normally be expected for a traditional courtship."

John studied the other man, looking closer at him then he ever had. Men really didn't look at one another, and never stared, but upon his closer examination, John realized the man was likely beyond forty. The gray hair was nothing compared to the winkles on his face and hands.

John sighed and rested his hands on the dining table. "As I told you this morning at the mill office, if Fanny is amenable to the match, I will support your suit, whether it is today or a year from now," John said. "However, it must be _her_ choice. I refuse to influence her one way or another. Only Fanny can know what she wants."

"Think of it as an arranged marriage, eh?" Watson suggested. "My own sister was matched by my parents and has done well for herself."

Arranged marriage? His own parents were the result of such a scheme, and while they were happy for a while, when times became difficult, things fell apart for them. As flighty as Fanny tended to be, John expected she would react much the same as their father had, and simply give up when crises arose.

John did not like the memory of the years following his father's death. Although his suicide had likely made John the man he was today, his father had created a horrible situation for their family.

"Let us go join the women, shall we?" John suggested, standing, needing desperately to change the subject. He'd spent enough time alone with the man and surely the women had had enough time to freshen up.

Watson followed him from the room. As they crossed the hall, John suddenly stopped. "My mother does not allow smoking in her parlor. If you would like to step outside, I will tell them you will join us shortly?"

"Nonsense." Watson shook his head. "I can wait until later for a smoke. I wouldn't mind another drink, though, Thornton." He backtracked and grabbed the brandy decanter from the table and clapped John on the shoulder before following John through the opened parlor door where the ladies were sitting, waiting on their arrival.

"Come join me over here, Mr. Watson!" Fanny called from near the fireplace. "I have been waiting for you!"

 _When had Fanny learned to flirt?_ John bit the side of his mouth to prevent a smile from forming as Watson rushed across the room to do Fanny's bidding. Lord, she already had the man wrapped around her finger!

John chose a chair next to his mother, offering the couple a bit of privacy to allow Watson to ask Fanny to attend the concert with him. While John was satisfied she would agree to attend with Watson, he also knew Fanny might demure until she weaseled something out of the man and John did not wish to witness that. Flowers or candy, perhaps? That seemed to be her gifts of choice from her previous suitors, the hardy few that had already tried and failed to capture her attention.

"Fanny is doing well tonight, Mother." He nodded toward his sister. "She is acting rather calm and mature this evening. I have not heard her whine one single time."

"When she and Miss Latimer _finally_ arrived home this afternoon I sat them both down and explained that Watson was coming and Miss Latimer should help Fanny dress her finest. Then I explained how she needed to behave so he did not find her utterly ridiculous. Miss Latimer added some ideas of what she had learned at her fancy school." His mother shrugged. "I did not wish for her to appear as an imbecile."

Watson broke into laughter at something Fanny said and they both turned their heads to see what he found so funny. Fanny was a lovely girl, but John knew there was not much substance to her. He had spent so much of his energy developing his business, her education had been placed squarely in his mother's hand. Consequently, she did not like to read, and could not care less about world events, but she _could_ play piano and sew. John was not certain what the two were discussing, but whatever it was, Watson seemed enthralled by it, hanging on her every word.

"Mother, there is a difficult subject I need to talk with you about." John turned his full attention on her.

"Oh?"

"Yes." He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He glanced at Fanny and Watson before looking back at her. "I was not pleased by the way you treated Margaret today. While I am accustomed to your blunt, brusque demeanor, she and her father are not."

She snorted. "You would have me change to suit her?"

He knew this would not go well, had been dreading it all day.

"No," he said. He sat up straight again. "I would ask that you treat her with respect and kindness in all dealings. For my sake-" laughter came again from the couple, interrupting him. He lowered his voice. "For my sake… and for my happiness you _must_ welcome her into the family. I cannot put into words how delighted she makes me, but I need you to accept that she is my choice and you must not do anything to interfere with our courtship. As you get to know her, you will see why I am choosing her."

"She is penniless, John!" she hissed. She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Do you not see her plan? She has trapped you! She sees you as an easy target to work her wiles upon—her fancy graces and airs. She has snared you and I will not have it!" Her hands hit her lap to emphasize her point.

"No," he answered in a firm voice, a voice he used with his employees. "She has done no such thing. I have knew who she was, her connections and lack of wealth since virtually the moment I met her. It is irrelevant, Mother. I am not marrying money, I am marrying—I hope—a woman who brings me joy." He clasped her small hand in his. "I do not expect you to understand just yet, but I do expect you to accept my decision and do everything within your power to make her comfortable in this home and in our lives."

She pulled her hand away and turned from him. "You ask too much, my son."

He deliberately softened his tone. "I ask only that you try and do all that you can to help her settle in Milton."

She did not answer for several beats of his heart. He had never asked this woman for anything. Since his father's untimely passing, John had done all in his power to care for her and see her needs were met.

"I will try," she finally answered, finally meeting his stare. "For your sake, I will try."

He leaned forward and smiled. "Thank you. She was correct, you know? You both want the very best for me. The sooner you accept her, the easier it will be for all of us."

She looked away and sighed. "And what of Mr. Hale?"

"What about him?"

She clicked her tongue. "Do you expect that _he_ be included in family events now, too?"

John straightened, baffled by her stubbornness. "Mother, I cannot believe you would have a concern about Mr. Hale. He is one of the kindest, humblest men I have ever met."

"I have no issues with the man, I simply wish to know if I must include him in family events? It seems Mr. Watson is making a fine impression on Fanny, so soon we must double the plates at the dinner table."

John laughed. "And that is a good thing!" He laughed harder and then decided to lighten the mood with teasing. "And, if all goes to plan, you will have weddings to arrange and then soon after small feet will be running through the hallways chasing puppies and kittens."

"Now you ask entirely too much." She finally cracked a smile. "As I told you when you were but ten years old… there will be no animals is the house!"

He laughed again. "You will see, it will all work out fine." He squeezed her hand. "Just be polite to Margaret and Watson and everything will settle into place."

"If you say so, son… if you say so…" She did not sound at all convinced.

"How about some cards?" Watson called out from across the room. "Mrs. Thornton? What do you say?"

"Mother?" John knew she hated playing cards. She was opposed to anything that had a risk.

"I suppose I must?" She stood and then leaned over John. "After all, I have been instructed to be more welcoming to people."

"Indeed." He smiled and stood. "I shall go fetch a deck of cards."

"Whoosh."

Margaret plopped heavily in her father's favorite chair, now creatively placed in front of both the fireplace and window in the front room of the house at the Prince George boy's school. She propped her feet up on the embroidered footstool her mother stitched when Margaret was quite small. The day had been long and now as the sun was setting, she finally had all the furniture in the correct rooms. Without the help from John's mill hands, there would have been no way they could have ever accomplished what they had in a single day.

Since he was out of town at Oxford, Mr. Bell left the carriage for their usage. Her father had gone to meet the men at the storage place at the Outwood rail station, and since ten that morning, furniture and crates had been coming virtually uninterrupted through the front door. The fine workers John had sent paused only minutes for lunch and a short break, and just now, nearly eight hours later did they leave for the day. When her father offered payment, they all refused; it seems John would gift their labor to the Hales as a housewarming. The man was endearing himself to her more and more each passing day!

Dixon came in the sitting room, carrying a tea tray overflowing with sweet treats from Mr. Bell's home. She'd been quite the hard worker that day. In fact, it had been a long time since Margaret had witnessed her work so hard. In Helstone they had employed a part time maid, someone much younger, who did the harder, day to day labor. This move to the north might prove physically difficult for Dixon most of all as they could no longer afford the employ of an additional servant. According to Mr. Bell, the mills paid far better than the Hales could afford to offer a young woman.

"Have a seat, Dixon and rest," Margaret suggested. She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. "Papa has gone to bed for the night already and there is no need to provide more than these delicious treats from Mr. Bell's home for my dinner tonight."

"I have one more task to complete, then I shall do as you request." She set the tea tray down on the table between the two chairs. "Would you like me to light the lamps?"

"Yes, Dixon. Go ahead, but just one lamp in here." Days were getting shorter, lights would be lit longer.

When Dixon left the room, Margaret revisited the conversation she and her father had earlier that day while sharing a midmorning tea break. Money matters were weighing heavily on his mind, and while he did not wish to scare her, he made it quite plain that frivolity would not be acceptable. His salary her at the school was less than he had earned as a clergyman, but he did still have the living from his family, and that would be enough to sustain them, and prevent her from having to find employment.

Margaret had never been a spendthrift. So many times she had accepted Edith's castoffs and hand me downs without complaint or question. They were of a similar size, she and her dear cousin, and it was easy to remake such fine gowns to fit Margaret specifically. Her Aunt Shaw was very generous, and treated her kindly all the years Margaret spent on her Harley Street home. With the move here to Milton, Margaret had brought all she owned with her, and was confident she would not need to buy anything but food for quite some time.

One thing that did trouble her, however, was that she could not help the poor as they did in Helstone because there was no alms box or extra funds. Margaret would visit Bessie Higgins the following day, with nothing to share. It was Bessie's short day at the mill and Margaret had planned to visit at lunch time. Her eyes suddenly focused on the plate of pastries and she smiled. She _would_ have something to share! _Thank you, Mr. Bell._

Margaret heard Dixon before she saw her. "Here Miss Margaret. These arrived for you earlier and I just now found a vase and added water."

In Dixon's hands was Margaret's mother's favorite glass vase, filled with a lovely bouquet of brightly colored flowers in shades of purple, blue and pink. She sat them on the mantle of the fireplace and then handed Margaret a sheet of paper.

"They are so lovely," Margaret said, snatching the paper from Dixon's outstretched hand. "When did they come?"

"While you were in your father's room, readying his clothing and bedding. I knew if I had given it to you then, you would get all starry-eyed and lose your focus, and that would simply not do as we had so much to accomplish today."

"Dixon!" Margaret laughed. She glanced down and smiled when she recognized John's handwriting immediately.

"Mr. Thornton, I presume?" Dixon asked, voice colored with disdain.

"Dixon you must be nice to the man," Margaret insisted. "I like him very much and he has been very good to me."

"Your mother would not have approved of Mr. Thornton," Dixon argued. "Or any _industrialist_ for that matter. Indeed, she prayed daily that you and Mr. Henry Lennox would make a match of it."

Ugh! Henry Lennox again. There were so many equally suitable and interesting men in London, why did everyone seem to focus on _him?_

"My father _does_ approve of him, Dixon, and oddly, he did _not_ approve of Mr. Lennox," Margaret said. "It will be all be well, Dixon, you will see. Mr. Thornton is a fine man." She smiled.

Margaret could sense the maid was not convinced, but that hardly signified in her mind.

"I will leave you to your letter."

"Nonsense," Margaret scolded. "Sit and have your tea before undertaking anything else."

Dixon sighed. "Very well. Once I light the lamp." She saw to the lamp and then sat next to Margaret and poured herself a full cup of tea and set it on her lap before selecting a scone from the plate.

Dixon did a fine job pacing herself, taking breaks frequently, but somehow managed to accomplish all that needed to be done. Spending so little time in Helstone over the past few years, Margaret had not really thought at all about Dixon. Margaret's mother loved Dixon as a sister, and treated her as such. They were about the same age, had grown up together in the Beresford's fine home in the heart of Mayfair. Margaret would have to be gentle with the woman, for she was grieving the death of Margaret's mother perhaps as keenly as her Papa was.

Margaret sighed as a sudden wave of sadness cascaded over her. She did not know anything about how she should mourn her mother. She had taken it one day at a time as Aunt Shaw recommended, but there were times the grief and emptiness just appeared like an unwelcome guest.

Fortunately, Dixon nibbling her snack, did not notice Margaret's distress. Margaret took a deep breath and slid open the sealed letter, hoping his words would lift her despair. She glanced at Dixon to make certain the woman was not spying, and quickly scanned the powerfully scrawled words.

 _Margaret,_

 _I had intended to deliver these to you in person, however, business matters took my time._

 _Please accept these flowers as a welcome to Milton, to my life. They do not carry the same meaning as the flowers I shared with you in London for I simply could not find the ones that would properly express my feelings for you at this time._

 _I am in great anticipation of the concert Thursday evening. I will arrive at your door at half-past six. My only request is that you wear the lovely dress you wore at your Aunt Shaw's home, on the first night we met. The image of you from that evening will be forever burned in my mind. I had never met a woman as beautiful._

 _I am so honored you have chosen to be with me!_

 _Yours,_

 _John Thornton_

Margaret sighed with supreme pleasure and read the short missive again before carefully folding it. He had thought of her that day! She had thought of _him_ constantly, it seemed. Knowing she was on his mind as well was a comfort. She would add this letter to her journal where she stored the half-dozen other letters she had received from John while still in London.

"Tomorrow will be a busy day, Dixon," Margaret suddenly said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. At first light I plan to go to St. Jerome's Foundling Home. I told Miss Bea I would come two mornings a week to help with the youngest ones."

"Miss Margaret…"

She cut her off. "Now, no complaining. I am determined to find worthwhile tasks to occupy my time. As of yet, I have no friends here, and Mr. Thornton's time is consumed by the mill." She nodded with certainty. "After the foundling home, I am to have lunch with Miss Bessie Higgins."

"That street urchin that came calling for you at Mr. Bell's? The sister of the man who fought with Mr. Thornton? Oh Miss Margaret! You ask too much of me to accept _that_!"

"Dixon, in truth, it does not matter if you accept my decision or not," she answered with firm conviction. "I will do what I feel I must to make me happy. Papa knows my intentions and although he too expressed concerns, he is willing to allow me to try to do good deeds for others. Mama visited the poor and the sick in Helstone, did she not?"

"No, Miss Margaret, she did not." Dixon shook her head. "She sent me and Lucy the part-time girl. Your mother was a fine lady."

"And I am not?"

"You _are_ a fine lady, as fine as Miss Edith for certain. Your mama was not comfortable around _those_ people, which is why this industrialist is so bothersome."

"I see…" Margaret stood. This was quite eye opening. Margaret thought her mother always visited the poor with the alms box and food. "Mr. Thornton grew up in a fine home. His parents were quite respectable and then they faced some great misfortune. In Milton they are among the first families- industrialism is well prized here, Dixon, and we must change our views or else we shall never fit in, and I believe we must... This is where Papa wants us… so we must." She rested her hand on Dixon's wide shoulder. "For my part, I will do the best I can to make a difference for those less fortunate and ask that you support this endeavor rather than criticize my works."

Resignedly, Dixon nodded. "I will try."

"And I thank you for that." She gave the maid a smile. "Now then… I will need my mint green gown ready for tomorrow night. Mr. Thornton is taking Papa and me to a concert. I must be prepared to receive him by half-past six."

"Yes, Miss Margaret, I will be pleased to see to that."

"And now I am for bed, I will truly be leaving at first light. Could you package some of these treats for the Higgins family?" She pointed to the tray on the table.

"You will need an escort, Miss," Dixon said.

"I am using Mr. Bell's carriage," Margaret reminded her. "If I encounter trouble, the driver can help. You will have your hands full here, getting your room and the kitchen in order. This room," Margaret skirted her eyes around the cozy space, "and Papa's bed chamber are nearly finished. I am certain there are other things left to be unpacked for here, but with the help from Mr. Thornton's men, the furniture is in the correct place. I will see to my space as time allows."

"Very well, Miss Margaret, I shall press the dress. Be sure you are not gone all day, young lady." She wagged a finger at her. "I will need some time to make your hair special. This is will be your Milton debut and it must be perfect."

"Yes, indeed." Margaret smiled. "I am greatly looking forward to it!" Margaret walked to the bouquet of flowers and plucked out tall, blue gladiola. She bent to sniff it and then smiled to the maid. "If you will just unbutton my gown and loosen my stays I will be off to bed."

Dixon made quick work of undressing her enough so she was able to finish the rest on her room, on her own. She took a small lamp from a table by the door and lit it so she could make her way up the stairs.

"Good night, Dixon," Margaret said. "I thank you for all you have done for our family."

"Yes, Miss. Good night."

Margaret smiled at the maid, pleased the older woman had put her feet up on the footstool and was enjoying the tea and pastries. She had done plenty for the family, Margaret just hoped she would not interfere with her budding relationship with John, and could treat him with the respect he deserved.

Across town, John had just arrived home from his weekly dinner with fellow mill men and was preparing for bed. Two evenings in Watson's drunken company had been more than enough to convince John of his unsuitableness for Fanny. John had witnessed the demise of too many good men due to their addiction to the bottle and although John had long held a suspicion of the man's predilection toward alcohol, he had never realized it was so extreme.

Indeed, Watson could hardly be much older than John, himself, yet they looked decades apart. When the man was inebriated, he did such foolish things, just as he had tonight, bragging to all who would listen that Fanny would soon be Mrs. Watson! He even had the nerve to offer odds to whoever would throw in that he would accomplish his plan by Guy Fawkes Day… Over John's dead body.

John had vowed not to interfere with their relationship, but he could hardly sit idly by as she made a foolish choice based upon flattery and gifts. John would speak to his mother in the morning have her, in turn, speak with Fanny. While he may not directly interfere, his mother could give her words of caution which might be enough to avoid tragedy. Having Watson for a brother would indeed be a tragic turn of events, with a lifetime of woe.

He slipped his nightshirt over his head, pondering what his father's reaction to Watson would have been. Would he have accepted the man? Indeed, in many ways they were quite similar. Would he have been supremely overprotective of Fanny? When she was a baby, their father barely paid attention to her, but that was when he was at the height of his financial crisis and family was a rather priority to him, or so it had seemed to a young John. An older John, nearing his father age at death, realized that business could consume a person, did consume many, and if he allowed it, would consume his as well.

He sat heavily on the edge of his huge bed and then laid back against his freshly laundered pillowcase. Folding his hands behind his head, he wondered what Margaret was doing and if she liked his gift of flowers. Was he acting like Watson, he wondered, by sending her gifts? He shook off that notion, for she was interested in him long before he ever gave her anything to remember him by.

She was likely asleep already, anticipating the busy schedule she had set for herself the following day. The men John had sent to help the Hales move were pleased to report to him that everything was where it was supposed to be and the family was now established in their new home. Margaret was sleeping in the bed she'd slept in since she was a wee lass in Helstone. Would it bring sweet dreams or trigger sadness from her mother's death?

He stretched his long legs and sighed. What if they were married already? She would be here, right next to him, perhaps even waiting up for him to arrive home from this weekly meeting. Having her calm wisdom to sort out all these odd thoughts and worries in his head, to have her here to talk to about Fanny and the mill and, well just _things_ would be such a comfort. There were some issues he could not speak to his mother about, but knew Margaret would understand.

Tomorrow would be an important day. He would introduce her to Milton society. A wide smile crossed his lips as his eyes slowly closed shut. He could remember that first sight of her at her aunt's home. She had worn a beautiful green silk dress, which exposed her creamy, rounded shoulders in the dancing light of the candles on Mrs. Shaw's long table. He clenched his hands, wishing he could touch her, caress her perfect skin and have her respond with ardent pleasure.

He knew very little about women. His life was full of business and financial concerns. His primal need for Margaret would consume him if is he could. He needed to be with her in a way he'd never been with a woman before; a deep emotional and physical intimacy only a marriage could provide. He did not wish to rush her, but did not know how he would make it through the waiting days and weeks ahead.

 _Oh my Margaret!_ he whispered, begging for the tension to ease from his body to allow sleep. Tomorrow would present another day full of challenges, until he fetched her for their evening together. Then, he would experience the pure pleasure of simply being in her company. He now understood why Watson was so keen on rushing to the wedding.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

The foundling home was not nearly as awful as Margaret had anticipated—at least not on the outside. That was the primarily thought in her head, as Mr. Bell's carriage pulled away, leaving her alone on the top step of St. Jerome's Foundling Home. So many terrible stories related to her from Aunt Shaw and Dixon, too, floated through her head, making her predisposed to think the worst. But, she was here to do good and kind works, and to spend her time in productive, charitable ways. This was the first day of what she hoped would be many.

Quite some time passed as she waited outside the imposing, front door of the old mansion for an answer to her rapping. Much of Milton seemed new, as if it had been built within the past few decades to account for the rise of the mills. This place, however, once a fine, stately family home, was considerably older. Still in serviceable condition, the big, brick building was now being used as a home for unwanted and abandoned children.

Just as Margaret was about to knock once again, the door flew open, presenting a willowy, very pretty blonde woman. "Miss Hale, I presume?"

The woman's enthusiastic greeting nearly stole Margaret's breath.

"Yes!" Margaret chuckled at her reaction to the woman. She had expected Miss Bea, a much older, sedate woman to be greeting her.

The blonde reached forward and gently tugged on Margaret's arm, leading her inside. "We are so very glad to have you, Miss Hale. I am Mrs. Willwright," she said with a smile, as she closed the door behind them. "You may call me Miss Gert, just as everyone does. If you would like to hang your cloak here?" The tall whirlwind pointed to a hook in the hallway where other coats were already hanging.

"Thank you, I shall." Margaret placed her gloves in the deep pockets of her coat and after removing the garment, hung it in an empty spot.

"Will you need tea before the tour and explanations?" Miss Gert asked, closely studying Margaret.

 _Could Miss Gert sense her nerves?_

"No, thank you," Margaret answered quickly. "I have just come from… home," she stumbled on that word, realizing that was what the boy's school now was. "I have had a fine breakfast."

"Excellent." Miss Gert clapped her hands together and smiled again, showing a perfect row of sparkling white teeth. She could not be but five years older than Margaret. "Let us first begin our tour in the dining hall where most of the children are, at present."

As they walked down a dark, narrow hallway, Margaret picked up the scent of baked bread and what smelled like sausage or perhaps ham. The hallway, like the rest of the old mansion was dark, and chilly, but not unwelcoming or scary as Margaret had dreaded.

Following her accident at the mill, Margaret had spoken with Mr. Bell about doing something industrious in Milton. He had suggested Margaret contact Miss Bea, the mistress of this foundling home. Miss Bea had replied immediately, and the following day had met with Margaret at the small tea shop on New Street near Mr. Bell's home. Margaret had been instantly drawn to the gentle, quiet woman and knew after only a few moments, she could help the woman, despite not knowing much about children.

They paused outside a closed nondescript, wooden door with glass windows near the ceiling. "Miss Hale, this is Miss Bea's private office." She rested her ringed hand against the wood, almost reverently. "She asks that we do not enter unless she invites us inside." Miss Gert leaned close to Margaret. "I have never been inside," she whispered and then winked at Margaret with a chuckle before standing straight. "She could be hording gold bars in there for all I know."

She laughed again and Margaret decided Miss Gert's energy was a thing of beauty, contagious and something truly special. Yes, she would like coming here to the home, and would especially enjoy getting better acquainted with Miss Gert.

They walked on a bit, to the very end of the hall, before Miss Gert stopped again, at another closed door. "Behind these doors, if you can believe it, are nearly thirty children." She leaned her ear against the door, and encouraged Margaret to do the same. "See if you can hear anything."

Margaret frowned, looked at her as if she was crazy, but followed directions anyway. Margaret leaned against the wooden door and other than the random clink of silverware against a plate, there was no sound.

"Silence, eh?"

Margaret nodded and moved from the door.

"Miss Bea requires silence as the children eat," Miss Gert whispered. "She dislikes wastefulness and believes children eat faster when not distracted by talking. As soon as they are finished, they return to their rooms, make their beds and dress for the day. Lessons begin at nine o'clock every day except Saturday when we clean and Sunday when we have church services. We have three teachers and Miss Bea. I help out three mornings a week, and she has said that is your intention as well?"

"Yes." Margaret nodded. "If there is need."

"Yes, Miss Hale, there is _great_ need." She stared at her for several heartbeats before smiling again. "Let us go upstairs to the nursery, shall we?"

 _Babies!_ Margaret had not considered there would be babies here at the home, but of course there must be. Children all start out tiny!

"Miss Hale," Miss Gert stopped short at the bottom of the staircase and Margaret almost ran into her. "I must prepare you, I suppose." She rested a hand on Margaret's shoulder. "Miss Bea allows young, unwed mothers-to-be to stay here until they give birth. They earn their keep through cleaning and cooking. At present, there are seven such women here."

"Seven?" That seemed like such a high number!

"Sad, is it not?" She lowered her voice. "Their families have turned them out, or they simply have no family." Miss Gert shrugged. "Once they deliver they will leave us. Miss Bea finds them employment and housing, usually in London or Oxford or even Scotland if they need to be quite far away. She has connections in many places. One woman just left us for _America_. I believe she had relatives there whom she will be reunited with."

"I see." What else could Margaret say?

"They are very nice girls, just made foolish mistakes to trust men." Miss Gert grew quite serious and pointed at Margaret. "See that you do not get caught in such a trap."

"I shall not!" Margaret's voice came out as a bark, so shocked this woman, who she had just met, would have the impertinence to suggest such a thing.

"See that you do not." Miss Gert nodded thoughtfully. "You are not from Milton, eh?"

"No," Margaret answered. "I grew up in Helstone, and have lived for many years in London."

"Helstone is in the south?"

"Yes, quite rural, and completely different from Milton." Margaret laughed quietly. "Before coming here, I had never seen smokestacks and chimneys, nor have I seen such gloomy, dark skies."

Miss Gert tipped her head. "But, you will stay?"

"I believe my future is here in Milton, yes." Her lips turned up in a wide smile. Margaret was rather certain Mr. Thornton would not be willing or able to relocate anywhere, and truly, her life was now wherever he… and her father for the next little time… was.

"I am glad to hear that. I am from further north." Miss Gert began walking up the stairs. "Up north of Blackpool." She called over her shoulder. "I met my Thomas while he was there on business for his bleach works. I have been in Milton since we married, just two years ago."

"Congratulations," Margaret said. "His business is in Milton?"

"Aye." She nodded and continued to the top of the stairs and then waited for her to catch up. "It is a carriage ride from the mills, just on the edge of town. Thomas is quite concerned with keeping the bleach from the canals so he must be far from homes."

They walked down a short hallway. Unlike the space downstairs that was virtually silent, sounds of children, little cries and whines, were easily heard upstairs.

"Miss Bea cannot keep the littlest ones silent," Miss Gert smiled. "There are eight wee ones up here, still in nappies. We keep them separate from the older children."

The end of the hallway opened into a large, bright room, likely once a formal ballroom. The cries and whimpers of the children bounced off the high ceilings and blue walls painted with clouds and rainbows. Footfalls of tiny little feet created a unique music, matched by both children and women humming. Margaret smiled. She wanted to twirl with the little girl spinning just a few steps ahead of her, but instead she stood with Miss Gert, taking it all in.

A girl, clearly in the final stages of her confinement walked toward them, a baby resting in the crook of her arm.

"This the new lass?" she tipped her chin up, pointedly while staring rather frankly at Margaret.

"She is," Miss Gert answered. "Miss Hale, this is Rebecca. Miss Bea has given her charge of the nursery."

"Hello Rebecca," Margaret stepped forward to greet the girl. She was girl, surely no older than sixteen. "Who do you have there?" She moved forward to look at the small, light haired lad in Rebecca's arms.

"This 'ere's Kenneth."

Margaret was enchanted by the boy's bright blue eyes and his tiny fingers as they gripped the fabric of Rebecca's dress.

"You want ta 'old 'im?" Rebecca asked.

Margaret glanced at Miss Gert, and after her encouraging nod, moved forward and held out her arms to accept the small bundle. As soon as she held the baby, the girl who had been twirling on the other side of the room came up to Margaret and grabbed on to her leg.

"That's my baby," the tiny girl said.

" _Your_ baby?" Margaret smiled down at the little girl and crouched down on one knee to reach her eye level.

The girl, with bright blonde hair nodded, her curly tendrils bouncing against her head.

"He is your baby brother, is he not, Lily?" Miss Gert bent over as well, and patted the side of Lily's cheek.

"My, what a lovely name, for a lovely little girl," Margaret said. She _was_ a beautiful child. Her eyes matched her brother's and Margaret imagined the baby's hair would soon be the same white-blonde color of Lily's head.

"What's _your_ name?" Lily asked.

"Margaret," she answered.

Her knee was getting sore and balancing little Kenneth was becoming difficult as he squirmed, so she stood tall again. She hugged the little boy close, surprised at how wonderful it felt to hold him against her heart, and then reluctantly handed him back to Rebecca. Margaret was looking forward to the day, not so far in the future when she could hold her cousin Edith's baby.

"What a nice little boy," Margaret said quietly.

"He is a nice child, and Lily as well." Miss Gert hugged the little girl against her side. "Their parents both died from a horrible sickness, leaving them all alone."

Lily skipped away back toward the tall windows on the opposite side of the room, the sound of her bare feet on the wooden floor echoing off the walls. There was something quite appealing about the small girl. Margaret had such limited experience with children, but Lily seemed special, and woefully out of place in this foundling home.

"Are children often adopted?" she wondered aloud.

"Sometimes," Miss Gert answered, a rather sad, contemplative look upon her flawless face. "Go on, take a look in the cribs and meet the littlest of the children." She waved Margaret ahead.

Margaret did as she was instructed and walked to the line of cribs set along the wall. Some children were awake and wiggly, but more were sleeping. Each bed was filled with small bodies, wrapped tightly in clean, colorful blankets.

"Adorable are they not?" Miss Gert whispered in her ear.

Margaret smiled at her new friend. "Yes, they certainly are."

"Babies are the ones that tend to be adopted." Miss Gert seemed to hesitate, but then asked, "Do you wish to move on? The children are likely done with their breakfast."

"Yes, certainly." Margaret looked at again at Rebecca still soothing Kenneth, and glanced at Lily whose nose was pressed up against the window, looking down at the world below her.

They nodded goodbye to Rebecca and slowly left the room, and "Are they allowed outside?"

"The children?"

Margaret nodded, descending the stairs next to Miss Gert.

"Yes, of course! Miss Bea has created a lovely green space just out the back door. There are some swings and things for children to climb. We go out each day before and after lunch." Miss Gert paused at the bottom of the stairs. "I should have shown you through the windows upstairs. It overlooks the space and the garden that the children work in."

"Very good."

It would be horrible to be locked inside all day. Margaret remembered her childhood days wandering the fields of Helstone, running barefoot through the grass and the streams that ran near the vicarage. How many days had she fallen asleep under the big Oak tree with a book or drawing supplies in her hand?

"Now you can hear them." Miss Gert laughed at the raucous young voices obvious in the hallway as they approached the door leading the dining room. "They will be cleaning up now. Miss Bea doesn't mind noise as they work, as long as they _work_ to clean up their areas. As I said, they will now go back to their bedrooms and make their beds and dress for the day. We can follow them and you can see the very specific routine. Miss Bea likes things a certain way. She is a very lovely, caring woman, without a mean bone in her body, but we must follow her directions."

"Yes, of course! Please, do tell me if I make an error," Margaret said. "I would not want to do anything wrong."

"Nonsense." Miss Gert rested her hand on Margaret's shoulder. "We are just so very pleased to have you here. Now, then, take a deep breath and we shall enter into the chaos!"

"I've had some bad news today, Mother."

John was late for lunch again that week. So late, his mother was already finished eating, and appeared ready to leave the table as he stalked through the dining room doors at the mill house.

"You are white as a sheet, son." She stood quickly, her chair screeching across the wood floor. "Sit!" she commanded, coming to his side.

He chuckled at her reaction, but followed her barking instructions nonetheless. "No one has died." He sighed.

"What then?" She leaned in, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Campton Textiles has gone under."

"No!" Her reaction was just as he expected, just as he had felt hours earlier when he first learned of the closure, a combination of dread and disbelief.

"Yes, I am afraid so." He settled his head against the hard back of the chair and closed his eyes.

"I received a telegram today, telling me. Once I reviewed the books, I realized they are three payments behind with us. I knew of the two shipments, but somehow, we still sent another, without payment for the first two." He expelled a huge breath and snapped open his eyes.

"You've been distracted!" she charged. "Miss Hale has been the root of this."

 _Not again!_ "No, mother." He shook his head.

"Yes, son," she retorted, sitting next to him. "You've taken your eyes from business, and look where it has gotten you." She pounded the table with anger.

"It's not my bloody fault Campton went under!" he yelled, frustrated she was so against his chosen woman. "The two orders were from _last year_ , and the last one from March, long before I even knew of Miss Hale!"

"Oh," she answered, suddenly contrite. "I see."

 _Would she ever apologize for being wrong? Being judgmental?_

"You'll not be seeing any payments now, I reckon," she stated flatly.

"Perhaps a fraction, depending what the bank decides after they foreclose." He shrugged. "I fear it is merely a sign of what is to come."

"Your investors from London?" she asked quietly, resting a comforting hand on his.

"There has been continued interest," he answered honestly, "but no firm commitment as of yet."

Silence dragged between them. John was imagining the worst as he had since hearing about Campton. Really his thoughts had been riddled with negativity since the strike the previous October. His trip to London had waylaid some of his concerns, given his great hope that men from the south, moneyed men, would see the value of investing in his mill.

Margaret had helped him keep his spirits high as well. Often just thinking of her smile would be enough to jolt him from negative thoughts. He feared even she would not be enough to see him through these upcoming troubles.

"What of the rumors of strike?" she asked.

"I fear they are more than mere rumors," he answered quietly. "That bloke I fought with, when Margaret first arrived? Robbie Higgins?"

She nodded for him to continue.

"He has begun to cause quite a stir. Last night at our master's meeting, Hamper, who employs the boy's father, has warned us that the lot of them meet at the Lyceum on Sundays to plot the demise of the masters."

"How ridiculous!" she snapped, sitting straight in her seat. "If the mills close they will not be employed, they will be far worse off than they already are!"

He sighed again. This discussion was more exhausting than he had anticipated! He had hoped she would calm his fears, allay his worries, but in truth she was causing heightened anxiety. He felt utterly defeated.

"Mother, they are not thinking clearly or perhaps do not understand the consequences of their actions."

"Who will set them straight?"

John shrugged. "I am not certain they wish to be put _straight_. They are fools, can see only the coins in their pocket which they spend poorly and expect for better when they make no improvements in their lives."

"I am surprised at you," she said. "You never speak of their private lives, John."

"I can think of no other reason for their strike but for hopeful financial gain."

"Perhaps you, and Hamper, and all the others should go speak with them at their Sunday meeting? Meet them on their terms and speak with them?"

"To what end?"

He could see that ending very badly. A dozen mill men with hundreds of angry hands. A lynch mod would be the result, nothing productive.

"Hear their complaints, talk to them, _men to men_ and see if something can be resolved. If they strike, that will be the end." Her hand cut through the air. "Is that not what you said in the spring? If they walked out again, you could not recover. And, now with Campton going under, you surely have nothing in reserve."

"You are correct, of course." His voice dropped. "Six months, no more. Mr. Latimer at the bank is paid 'til then. So there is nothing on that end which I must worry about. However, if the hands strike… well, that may well be the end of Marlborough Mills."

They both knew this could happen at any time. Business was risky, it had always been chancy. John, for his part had done all he could to limit the possibility of failure. By being frugal and overly tight with his money, he had kept the mill afloat even in the desperate times forced upon their family by his father's imprudent mistakes.

"And the others?" she asked. "How do they fare?"

John shrugged. "None of us mill masters express our true difficulties to one another. If we admit struggles, we appear weak, ready for a vulture to swoop in and overtake us." His chuckle was self-deprecating. "I trust none of them. I confide only in you."

"Not even Watson?"

John shook his head. "He is perhaps the worst of all of them. He continually presents perilous money making schemes which he hopes will make him wealthier. He expects that we all… the mill masters, that is… will wish to take part, but after father…"

She rested her hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

He tipped the edge of his mouth in a wry smile. "Do not count us out, Mother. I will find a way to make things work out."

"I have no doubt of that, but I wish I could help in some way."

He paused for a few moments, thinking how she could possibly help him at this trying time. It was rather obvious as soon as it popped in his head.

"I would ask that you simply accept Margaret. As difficult as business is at the moment, she is a bright spot in my life. If I know I can rely on you to be kind to her, to welcome her whenever she is here… well that will be one less worry."

At first, her lips puckered into a tight circle, but slowly she began to nod, easing the tension from her face. "Surely now you are not in position to marry."

He sighed deeply, knowing in his heart she was right. "We will see what the future holds. For now, I will enjoy the time with her, with sights set on a future together."

"You cannot lead the girl on, John, nor can you make any commitments you will not for certain be able to honor." Her gruff voice irritated him, made him feel as if he were being scolded.

"Yes, of course. I am a businessman, and as such, fully understand agreements. Although Margaret is not a business arrangement, I will treat her with respect, knowing that my final goal is indeed marriage. If not now, then sometime in the future when the economy of Milton is once again sound."

"And if the mill fails?"

His immediate response was to pound the table with his fist, for even the thought of such an event was greatly disturbing. He took a deep breath and said in a quiet, measured voice, "I do not wish to consider that possibility, and will do whatever I must to prevent that event." He gentled his voice. "We spoke last night of Irish workers again."

"Irish? _Again?_ When were they first discussed?"

"After the last strike." He traced the edge of his plate with his finger. "I contacted a man from Dublin then. I put him on notice to maintain a list of possible workers, should this happen again."

"Irish." She said the word as if it were a curse.

"If my hands refuse to work, what choice do I have?" His frustration was obvious in the terseness of his voice. "I will hire whomever I must to make the mill run and meet the contracts still outstanding."

She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. His anger never seemed to disturb her. She was so mild mannered, he could only imagine he got the trait from his father.

"Eat, John. We can speak of this at another time." She reached forward and handed him the plate of sandwiches and teapot before standing. "I will leave you to your thoughts."

He grabbed her hand. "Will you do as I asked? Be kind to Margaret and welcome her?"

She did not answer immediately, or look him in the eye, which gave him pause. When she finally uttered a simple, "Aye," he was relieved.

When Hannah Thornton gave her word, it was her bond.

"How will you even stay awake through the concert, Miss Margaret?"

Dixon's question was quite valid, Margaret thought silently as she studied her fancy styled hair in the mirror as she sat preparing in her new bedroom for the evening concert with John. The day had been long, starting with her work at the foundling home and ending in the Princeton District with a long, taxing visit to the Higgins house. Now home, she wished she could simply curl up on the sofa with a book (and John Thornton) and relax for the evening.

"I believe the music will lift my energies." She smiled, twisting her neck to see the back of her head. Dixon had done well.

"Being with Mr. Thornton will no doubt, as well."

"Dixon!" Margaret scolded, with a laugh. "The evening will be quite pleasant I am certain. I will finally be able to meet Miss Thornton. The day I was injured she was home, but I did not speak with her."

"I wonder if she will be a fine lady like Miss Edith or rather one more like that Bessie Higgins that came to call for you at Mr. Bell's?"

"I believe she will be a very fine lady. I do not believe her mother, or Mr. Thornton, would allow her to look anything but the best, nor act anything but perfectly ladylike." Margaret imitated her Aunt Shaw's lofty voice, and then chuckled. "The Thorntons are among the first families of Milton, Dixon, and as such, they must present themselves in such a way."

"I still believe you are too good for a manufacturer, Miss Margaret." Dixon stepped aside and allowed Margaret to stand. "But I suppose if what you say of the family is true, and knowing your father intends to stay in Milton, you could not hope to do better. At least not in Milton."

Margaret did a quick twirl in her favorite dress, the one John had requested her to wear that evening. "I could do no better _anywhere_." Margaret leaned close to Dixon. "Even… in… London."

Just then, rapping sounded on the door downstairs. Her heart skipped a full beat, excited to see John. She'd virtually counted the hours until he would fetch her this evening, and now he was here!

"That will be Mr. Thornton, I'd wager."

Margaret glanced at the clock and smiled. "Right on time." She twirled again. "How do I look?"

Dixon smiled. "Just as a young lady should. Now hurry, lass!" The maid shooed her out the door. "Go see if your father is ready and I will put Mr. Thornton in the drawing room to await your arrival."

They left Margaret's bedchamber at the same time, and while Dixon went down the stairs, Margaret went directly across the hall to fetch her father. She rapped softly, not surprised he invited her in directly. Margaret opened the door a small crack and peeked inside.

"Are you ready, Papa?"

Her father was sitting in a chair next to his bed reading, his pipe hanging from the side of his mouth.

"Is Mr. Thornton here, already?" Closing his book, he glanced over at his clock. "Oh, I have lost track of time!"

"Mr. Thornton keeps strict to schedules, Papa." She smiled. "No London hours here in Milton."

He set aside his pipe in its holder on the small table next his bed, and stood, straightening the sleeves of his suit.

"I suppose not," he said. "Tomorrow will be an early day once again for him, no doubt. I am pleased we cannot hear the whistle this far from the mills. I never seemed to sleep through it while at Mr. Bell's home."

She chuckled at his frown. "That is the point of the sound, is it not?"

"Cheeky this evening, aren't we?" He tweaked her nose.

"Happy, Papa, just happy."

"There is no shame in that, my child." He cupped her shoulders with his hands. Smiling he said, "I could ask for nothing more for you."

"Thank you." She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. "You look well. Are you ready?"

He nodded and guided her with a gentle hand on her back to the stairs, which they slowly descended side-by-side. She could hardly understand her nervousness. It was not as if this was her first evening with John. Her father was with her, and they would be surrounded, surely, by dozens of people. Perhaps that was where the nerves entered? A room full of strangers, people who likely knew John, but not her would be intimidating. It was her debut, as Dixon had suggested, but surely this would be a smooth entry into Milton society?

She paused just outside the study, looking at her hair in the small mirror hanging on the wall.

"You look beautiful, my dear," he whispered. "Let us not keep your suitor waiting."

With a nod, Margaret moved from the mirror and breezed into the drawing room, pleased John was sitting comfortably on their sofa. She considered asking if he simply wanted to stay in, instead of attend the concert, but he stood quickly and suddenly knocked all thoughts left her head.

"Good evening, Margaret," John said, coming immediately forward and taking her hand for a kiss. He stepped back, slowly sliding his hand away. "Mr. Hale, I am so pleased you were able to join us this evening."

"It's my pleasure," her father bowed kindly to John. "I am anxious to see what sorts of cultural offerings Milton has. In Helstone such entertainments were quite limited. London, on the other hand…" He winked at Margaret.

"We are not London, for certain," John admitted, "but you _will_ find many things to occupy your evenings. I hope, Mr. Hale, you will allow me to introduce you to those of my acquaintance?"

"I would be honored," her father answered. "It would be helpful, no doubt to meet those of your ilk in hopes of them sending their young sons to me for their education."

"Yes, of course. That is a fine idea." John nodded. "Shall we be going? Traffic was light on the trip here, but I would not wish for us to be in our seats late."

Dixon handed Margaret her gloves, and then her father his hat and gloves before opening the door for them to exit. They promptly donned their accessories and Margaret led them out of the door.

The Thornton carriage was obviously freshly washed. It nearly sparkled in the waning sunlight. The days were getting shorter, but tonight was quite warm, with only a light breeze.

"My sister is already in the carriage," John told her just as the blonde poked her head out of the open door, and waved wildly in their direction. He chuckled. "As you can see, she is quite anxious to meet with you, Margaret."

"So I see." Margaret laughed. She waved back and then accepted John's help into the carriage. "Hello, Miss Thornton."

"Ach you must call me Fanny!" The woman grabbed Margaret's hand and pulled her onto the bench next to her. "I shall call you Margaret."

"Yes, that will be just fine."

"I have been quite excited to meet you, Margaret." She stopped talking as the men climbed aboard.

"Mr. Hale, this is my younger sister," John announced as he entered the carriage and sat on the opposite bench. "Fanny, this is Mr. Hale."

"My pleasure to meet you, sir," she answered politely. Her attention snapped quickly back to Margaret. Fanny squeezed Margaret's hand. "I am so _pleased_ you are with us tonight. Has my brother told you I am to attend with _Mr. Watson_?" Her voice sounded pained, but she remained smiling.

"No, I don't know that he did." Margaret glanced across the carriage at John, who simply shrugged his right shoulder.

"You met him, did you not?" Fanny asked, as the carriage began to move. "When the mill men came to London?"

"Mr. Watson?" Margaret nodded and met her father's eye. "Yes, we did meet him then."

"And what did you think? Tell me the truth, Margaret. I can accept whatever you say!" Fanny rested her hand over her chest and stared at Margaret, waiting in rapt attention for Margaret's opinion.

"What do I think of Mr. Watson?" Margaret glanced across to John, curious what he was thinking of his sister's questioning. Dare she say what she really thought?

"Yes!" Was Fanny's passionate answer. "I must have another opinion. My dear friend Ann has yet to meet him. So you must tell me."

"Ah… well… he seems like a fine man," Margaret said, hesitantly.

"Would you spend time with him? That is if John had not found you first." She smiled at her brother.

She wanted honesty? So be it.

"In truth, Fanny? No, I could not." Margaret shook her head. She patted fanny's hand and rested hers back into her lap. "But," she continued, sensing Fanny's disappointment, "just because I do not feel any… compatibility with Mr. Watson does not mean that you will not! He may be the perfect man you are seeking for yourself."

"My needs are quite modest, you see," Fanny said. "My mother said just because there is snow on the roof does not mean there is no longer a fire in his belly!"

"Fanny!" John scolded.

She rolled her eyes toward her brother. "John we are all friends here, they do not mind my frankness." Fanny turned her attention back to Margaret. "He _is_ quite old," Fanny admitted, "But that should not signify, should it?"

Again, Margaret glanced across the carriage at John before answering. He was no help. "If Mr. Watson makes you happy, shows you respect and consideration, then no I do not believe his age should be of consequence."

"That is exactly as I thought." She nodded repeatedly, quickly. "After all, not every man can be as handsome as Adonis." Fanny continued to nod as if to convince herself and then looked out the window. "My goodness we are already here!


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Good Lord, _his_ woman was beautiful. Watching Margaret banter with his sister, was incredible; almost titillating. John wanted to reach across the carriage and pull her onto his lap and ravish her. But, he could hardly do that with Margaret's _clergyman_ father and his younger sister sitting in the carriage. Oh, but how he wanted to!

The carriage pulled to a halt in front of Lyceum Hall. How honored he was, that such a creature as beautiful as Margaret Hale would be entering on his arm tonight. His driver popped open the door, and as John could have predicted, Fanny shot out like a bullet, always anxious to be the first seen. How she had ended up with such a personality so opposite to his, he could not say.

He chuckled, so accustomed to her behavior, it no longer irritated him. John allowed Mr. Hale to exit before him, out of respect, and soon John, too, was on the ground, impatiently awaiting his lady's hand. John replaced his hat on his head, and then raised his hand to Margaret with a smile, pleased when she grinned back, showing the small dimple in her cheek. She grabbed her dress as she stepped down and accepted his hand with her free one.

He leaned in and whispered, "You look so beautiful tonight, my love."

Margaret flushed a brilliant shade of pink and looked down, the perfect reaction of a demure lass.

"I thank you, kind sir," she whispered with a wide grin. "It _is_ the dress you asked me to wear."

"So it is." His heart and pride swelled. She had dressed so fine, just especially for him.

He took her small, gloved hand and wound it through the crook of his arm. Fanny walked on his other side, while Mr. Hale trailed slightly behind. John looked over his shoulder to make certain the older man was indeed following as he looked quite star-struck, in awe of the crush of people and perhaps even the grandeur of the building.

Much of Milton was bland compared to other cities John had visited. The smoke from the mills not only darkened the skies, but blackened the exterior walls of the buildings. So even though so much of the town was new, built within the last thirty years anyway, it looked old, worn down and dingy. The Lyceum Hall was the exception to that rule, however.

"It's lovely," Margaret said, pausing in their walk to the front door.

It was as if she had read his mind.

"It is quite new, completed just five years ago." He set them to walking again. It wouldn't do to be caught at the end of the line. They started performances on time, whether the seats were full or not! The leaders of Milton recognized the need to bring some culture to the town, and this was one way that did so. John enjoyed the entertainments available weekly at this venue, but knew they hardly could compare with the attractions Margaret was accustomed to in London. He hoped she and her father would enjoy their evening, hoped she would be his constant companion at such affairs.

"Did they have no music hall prior to that?" Mr. Hale asked.

John shook his head. "Music could be found only in the pubs, which were quite well attended. Unfortunately, that drunkenness led to a growth in crime. Why, the streets were no longer safe for my sister to travel without escort—even in the daytime. We made some other changes, hired more constables, invited actors and singers here weekly to give the workers something to look forward to, and even built an art museum, just down the road." He shrugged. "It has worked. Milton is safer, more controlled. I see that in the mill as well. People seem… calmer."

"Except Robbie Higgins," Margaret suggested.

He sighed. "Yes, he is still rather wild, as you unfortunately were made to witness. I suppose not everyone has been similarly affected. But we are continuing to try new ways to improve."

"Such as the housing you are suggesting?" Margaret asked.

"Exactly," he answered.

She understood him so well! No one with the exception of his mother had ever truly understood him before.

"John, we are falling behind!" Fanny tugged on his arm and verily dragged them to the front of the stream of visitors.

"Fanny we have _assigned_ seats," he reminded her. He pulled back slightly, slowing down her march. It would hardly do to be seen running to the front of the line.

"I do not wish to be surrounded by _these_ people for longer than I must." Fanny leaned in front of John, cutting him short in his stride. She told Margaret, in not such a quiet voice, "They allow _anyone_ into these presentations."

"Which is why I always procure the reserved seats for your comfort, dear sister," he answered patiently.

"Yes, but _still_." Her eyes darted between the fellow attendees. She lowered her voice. "Could they not wear their Sunday clothes?"

"I believe they are, Fanny," Margaret said quietly. "These people are quite poor and certainly could never afford fine gowns such as ours."

Fanny rolled her eyes and looked away with a click of her tongue. John knew the girl was a snob, still so self-centered and foolish, despite her age. He hoped her behavior would not reflect poorly on him, at least in Margaret's eyes.

They made it to the front of the building and took their place in the short line. John pulled away from the ladies to reach in his coat pocket and retrieve the tickets he'd purchased for the evening's performance of Walter McNally singing Charles Dibdin's music.

"Thornton! I was wondering when you would arrive."

John turned his head toward a man's voice just as Harold Watson joined them. The older man clapped John on the shoulder and as he skipped many people to join them at the front of the line.

"Miss Hale, pleasure to see you again." Watson tipped his tall beaver hat. "Ah, Mr. Hale you are here as well. Splendid! Splendid." He nodded so rapidly, his tall hat slid askew.

"I believe you know my sister, Watson." John said reluctantly. _This was such a poor decision_. "Fanny, please greet Mr. Watson."

The smarmy man fixed his hat before taking Fanny's hand as she curtseyed. He kissed the back of it, his mustache looking odd against Fanny's light skin. To her credit, Fanny did not cringe, but John did. He had developed in his mind the sort of man Fanny would marry, and Harold Watson did not fit the mold whatsoever.

They slowly moved with the rest of the line and finally reached the doors where John handed the greeter their five tickets. Mr. Watson walked into the main auditorium with Fanny, leaving him with the Hales, a place he was supremely content to be.

"Thornton!" someone yelled.

 _Here it begins_ , he thought, turning toward the voice. Few people actually came to the Lyceum programs to see the performance, rather they wished to _be_ seen. John was well-known by a large variety of people- from his hands, to the mill owners and masters to gentlemen in other Milton businesses. His employees would not approach him at such an event, but others would.

"Hello, Hamper," John said, addressing the fellow mill master. "Mrs. Hamper." He tipped his head toward his wife.

"Miss Hale, you have arrived in Milton!" Mr. Hamper walked forward and abruptly grabbed Margaret's hand. "Victoria," Hamper turned to his wife and drew her forward. "This was the young woman I told you about meeting in London. And her father, Mr. Hale."

Mrs. Hamper walked close to Margaret and took both of her hands, and odd, almost predatory smile on her face.

"Miss Hale, my husband was quite impressed by your Aunt, and her London home. He talked for almost a week about the variety of food she served at her table." Mrs. Hamper leaned forward. "I am pleased to welcome you to Milton." In a stage whisper, she added, "I am certain you already know… Mr. Thornton is _quite_ the eligible bachelor in Milton, _definitely_ sought after by _all_ the girls."

Mrs. Hamper tended to exaggerate somethings. Well, really _everything_.

Margaret smirked and glanced up at him. "Truly?" she teased. " _All_ the girls?"

He felt himself color and regretted approaching the Hampers. "Perhaps not all, Miss Hale," he answered. Margaret was the only one he was interested in having attention from.

"Come, Victoria, let us find our seats," Hamper said impatiently, resting his hand on her back to guide her away. "Good evening, Thornton. Miss Hale."

"Embarrassed?" Margaret asked when they were alone once again.

He laughed. Tonight it seemed as if they were of a like mind. "I am not _that_ popular, you see. But I do tend to get some attention from Fanny's friends from time to time." He winked at her and then hurried them to their reserved seat, lest they encounter more people hoping to get a look at the beauty on his arm.

Once Margaret was comfortably seated next to her father, whom John had watched follow Fanny and Watson path into the auditorium, John sat in his end seat, allowing more space to extend his legs. Programs had been placed on their chairs and he glanced at his rather briefly, trying to reign in his excitement at being this close to Margaret.

Occasionally as she shifted to speak with her father, John received a whiff of a flowery scent. He thought perhaps roses, but it was not quite like the rose scent his mother wore. It was new to him, but suddenly locked in his mind as the fragrance of Margaret. He could not help but stare at her, rather unconcerned if he looked like the besotted puppy he felt like.

She turned to ask him something, but suddenly her face went blank, a look of confusion. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," he whispered, his voice husky to his ears. The lights suddenly lowered to ready for the performance. Under the cover of darkness he took her petite hand in his much larger one and squeezed it. "Everything is perfect, my love." He smiled. "Simply perfect."

She smiled back, and it seemed like the moment was frozen in time. Once the notes from the piano began to drift on the air, she looked away toward the stage. Indeed there was nowhere in the whole world where he would rather be that very moment.

The performance was far inferior to what Margaret had been anticipating, but she would never let on to John about her disappointment. Really, she had nothing to be disappointed about! Here she was, in her new town of Milton with the two men she loved, her father and John, meeting new, unique people and finding a place for herself far from London.

The performance was over, but the Lyceum offered refreshments (for a fee) following the performance in the entryway. It was a way, Margaret supposed, to weed out those who could and could not afford an expensive glass of watered-down punch.

She kept a keen eye on her father for fatigue. He had been working diligently the past days to prepare the school for the boy's arrival the following week. The start of the term would be stressful for the small Hale family, and she was planning to help as much as she could, while spending time with Bessie, at the foundling home and of course, with John.

"Oh look! It's Mrs. Willwright," Margaret tugged on John's arm. "Oh pardon me, Mr. Watson." She'd inadvertently interrupted John and Watson.

"No worries, Miss Hale." Watson raised his glass. "Just shop talk."

"Who do you see?" John asked, bending so he could better hear her.

It was a rather boisterous group that remained in the large marble- floored foyer, with voices echoing and sounding even louder than they likely were.

"Gertrude Willwright. Her husband is Thomas, a bleach works owner?" She pointed discretely across the room. "Do you know them?"

"Willwright! I could not make out quite what you were saying, my dear." He smiled gently. "Yes, I know Mr. Willwright quite well. We started at the school together." A shadow crossed his face, but he quickly looked away.

Margaret knew the fact John could not finish school still disturbed him. He was quite adept at changing the subject whenever it was broached. She was pleased her father had agreed to read with him, even if it was just the classics that he may never use in his business-life. Perhaps it would be enough to satiate his curiosity and open his mind to new ideas?

She watched the Willwrights make their way across the room toward them. Margaret had enjoyed meeting and working with Gert that day at the foundling home. It was a surprise, but a great pleasure to see her again so soon.

"How is it that you know them?" John asked her quietly.

"She volunteers her time at the foundling home, too."

His eyebrows shot up. "Foundling home?" He looked down at her with a frown. "What precisely do you mean by, ' _too?'"_

"I volunteered there today," Margaret sputtered. "I told you a few days ago I met with Miss Bea and would be visiting there several days a week."

"You did?" The lines between his beautiful blue eyes deepened. "I do not recall."

She tipped up her head and went on her tip toes to reach his ear. Kindly, he bent lower. "You were kissing me at the time." She flushed.

"Oh…" He cleared his throat and grinned. "Clearly my mind was not on what you were saying." He chuckled.

"Thornton!" Mr. Willwright had a very, very deep voice, matching his rather large frame. "How do you do this evening?" He reached forward and pumped John's hand.

"Quite well, thank you," John answered, with a small smile.

"My wife tells me she knows your companion," Willwright continued.

Willwright was at least three inches taller than John and weighed considerably more, as well. He had a boyish face, with blonde hair and deep, dark brown eyes, but was quite handsome, although not nearly as handsome as her John. As a couple, the Willwrights they were quite well matched.

She smiled at Gert. She was wearing a pastel blue gown, perfectly fitted for her curvaceous figure.

"Yes." John looked down at her. "Miss Hale just told me the same. Miss Hale, may I present Mr. Thomas Willwright and his wife… well you two already are acquainted." He chuckled.

Margaret curtseyed to Mr. Willwright and then stepped forward, grabbing Gert's hands. "This is my father," Margaret turned slightly to include him in the circle. "Papa, this is the woman I met today at St. Jerome's, Mrs. Gertrude Willwright. Gert this is my father, Richard Hale."

They exchanged pleasantries and soon Mr. Willwright, John and her father were in the midst of a conversation about the news of the day. Gert drew her aside.

"Come get some punch with me, would you? Thomas was not thirsty but I am."

"Did you enjoy the concert?" Margaret asked as they meandered toward the refreshments.

Gert frowned. "It was not the best I have seen, but it was not the worst either." She chuckled. "I enjoy going out in the evenings with Thomas. He spends such long days on business I am glad to be by his side, doing something interesting."

Margaret was already seeing this also true of John. No doubt the other mill masters and businessmen in Milton put in equally grueling hours away from home. In a way it pleased Margaret that John was not the only one away from home for such lengths of time. She had something immediately in common with other women in Milton, married or courting men who were commitment to the success of their businesses and thus the success of all of Milton.

When she and Gert reached the refreshment table, Gert fished out some coins from her small satchel, and handed them to the attendant before picking up a filled glass. Margaret handed the attendant her glass for a refill and soon they were set, and moving slowly back toward the spot where the men remained speaking.

Gert suddenly stopped walking. "You did not tell me you were acquainted with Mr. Thornton," Gert said quietly, a gleam in her pretty eyes.

Margaret laughed. "It did not come up in conversation today, did it?" She laughed again. "Mr. Thornton and I met in London in May."

"He is the reason you have come to Milton?" Gert asked.

Gert was perceptive. "Partially," Margaret answered, swallowing a sip of punch. "My father was offered the position of headmaster at the Boy's School before I had met Mr. Thornton or knew of Milton. It all sort of happened right at once."

"He's a good man, Lass," Gert continued, looking over Margaret's shoulder toward the spot they'd left the men talking. "He's quite well respected in Milton. My Thomas thinks highly of him and he does not like many. A fine catch indeed." A rare smile crossed her lips.

"Thank you."

Gert leaned forward. "Has he asked for your hand?"

Margaret shook her head. "Not yet. He did ask to court me, so I suppose that may be the next step?"

Loud feminine laughter sounded from behind. Margaret turned toward the noise. Margaret was not surprised it was Fanny laughing. The girl did seem to have a bit of a gregarious nature, quite the contrast to her rather stoic brother.

Fanny and Watson had joined John, her father and Mr. Willwright in a tight circle. There was another, older couple and a woman near Fanny's age also part of the circle. The younger girl was standing very close to John, staring at him with what Margaret thought was a rather affectionate look on her face. As Margaret watched, Fanny looped her hand through the girl's arm.

"Do you know the people that joined the men?" Gert asked, looking away, focusing on Margaret instead.

Margaret remained watching the group for several moments before answering. "I do know Mr. Watson, and the blonde is Mr. Thornton's sister Fanny. The other three I do not."

"Oh." Gert nodded and moved in very close. "Well, the couple is called the Lattimers," she whispered. "The gentleman owns the largest bank in Milton. My Thomas does business with him. I imagine Mr. Thornton does, also. His wife is not very nice, I don't think, but perhaps you will like her." She shrugged. "The daughter… Anne, has just returned from _finishing_ school in Switzerland."

"Well, how lovely for her."

Margaret felt a twinge of jealousy. Anne Lattimer had rested her hand on John's arm, and rather than remove it, he had allowed it to stay perched there. She appeared desperate to have his attention, being rather animated with whatever she was telling him.

"I must tell you something before we join them once again." Gert dropped her voice lower. "It has been common knowledge for some time that Miss Lattimer has had her sights set on your Mr. Thornton."

"Oh?"

Margaret's stomach dropped for a moment, but quickly settled with the realization John was courting _her_ , not Miss Lattimer, despite the girl hanging on his arm. In truth, Margaret wanted to rip the girl's hand off John's arm, but would not embarrass him by causing a scene. She knew he was taking her home tonight, not Anne Lattimer!

"Aye." Gert nodded. "They have been connected in society several times." Gert squeezed Margaret's hand. "If he has asked to court you, surely he will no longer spend time in her company."

Margaret thought back to Mrs. Hamper's comment as they had entered the Lyceum. John was so much older than her, certainly he would have far more experience with the opposite sex. Margaret had not taken time to consider his reputation with women, had thought only of how he treated her in London and now in Milton. Mr. Bell would have warned her if there was any real concern about him. Right?

"Come, let us join them again," Gert said. "We can talk more at St. Jerome's on Monday."

They walked the short distance and rejoined their party. Gert stood by her husband who quickly stepped aside, with a smile and welcomed her next to him. Margaret decided that very minute that she would like the man. Instead of standing near John, who seemed in a rather deep conversation with Mr. Watson and Mr. Lattimer, she joined her father, who as was his custom in these situations, remained on the fringe of the group.

"Are you well?" she asked her father.

"Yes, of course!" He patted her back. "I simply have not been awake this late since these men were last in London. It seems I exhibit some bad behaviors when they come around!"

"Oh, Papa!" She laughed. "I'm glad you are with us tonight."

"You have returned!" Fanny grabbed Margaret's arm. "You simply must meet my dear friend, Anne."

Fanny dragged her right through the circle of men interrupting their discussion, and stopped right in front of the Lattimers. _How embarrassing!_

"Anne! Here she is! The one from London I told you about." Fanny pushed Margaret right in front of the girl. "Margaret Hale this is my bosom friend, Anne Lattimer of Milton."

"Hello Miss Lattimer." What else could Margaret say? She curtseyed, and tried to hide away her nerves at meeting someone John was supposedly once interested in, with no less than six others looking on.

Anne reached forward and took Margaret's hands, much the same as Fanny did when they first met. "I am _sure_ we will become the best of friends. Right Fanny?"

Having lived so long in London, Margaret recognized scheming and manipulating women from miles away. Miss Anne Lattimer fit the bill to a _T,_ oozing insincerity from all directions. Only a very few people in the world ever been allowed to manipulate Margaret. Her parents. Dear Brother Frederick. Her Aunt Shaw and Cousin Edith, sometimes Dixon and perhaps now John. Maybe even Mrs. Thornton would eventually be given that privilege. But Fanny and Miss Lattimer? _Never_.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Margaret said. She would _not_ be this woman's best friend, nor Fanny's, most likely, but civility won out as it always did in her life.

"What do you think of Milton?" Anne asked.

Was this a test? Was Miss Lattimer trying to catch Margaret off-guard with kindness or did she really care what Margaret thought?

"I am enjoying my time here, greatly," Margaret answered, lying a bit. "It's quite different from what I have known, but very pleasant."

"Come now, Margaret!" Fanny said with a snort. "It's a dirty town with soot in the air, and waste in the streets. Surely London—or anywhere for that matter— is better?"

"It is different," Margaret answered. She knew she must choose her words carefully. To argue with Fanny would be pointless. "But the variety is what I like. Indeed, is it not amazing," she looked between Fanny and Anne as she spoke, "that in our small country we can have so many different aspects?"

Fanny snorted again. "Give me a fine place in London and I would move in a heartbeat!"

Anne nodded in support of her friend. "Switzerland was quite lovely." She turned her charm full force on Margaret. "I've just returned from finishing school, you see. Have you ever been?"

"To finishing school?" Margaret asked.

"Or Switzerland," Anne laughed, a rather false tittering sound.

"No. Neither," Margaret answered before finishing the remaining punch in her glass. "However, I did partake in the events of the London _Season_ and had lessons in many things."

This would turn in to a battle of one-up-manship and truly Margaret was not in the mood for such an event. She glanced at John, hoping he would understand her look of desperate need of rescue. He was too deep in conversation to notice. However, her father did notice and understood immediately her need to leave the discussion.

He left his spot on the edge of the group and stopped next to her. He rested a hand on the back of her shoulder and leaned in to speak with her.

"Margaret, my dear, I could use a bit of air, would you walk outside with me?" He smiled with genial friendliness at Anne and Fanny, but quickly whisked Margaret away after she made her excuses.

He led her out the front door, into the inky, cool night. Quickly lighting his pipe, he said, "Had enough of them, did you?"

Before answering, she looked behind her to make certain no one had followed.

"You know me so well." She moved toward a bench next to the wall and took a seat, pleased when her father joined her. "Fanny is a bit… overwhelming. Edith might get excited from time to time, but Fanny? It appears she is in a constant state of euphoria."

"And the Lattimer girl?" he asked softly.

Coaches were lined up along the walk, waiting for their owners to climb inside and be carried home. The gas street lamps had been lit, allowing people to travel in safety and cast an eerie glow on the dark evening.

Margaret search for the right words. "She is rather pretentious, is she not? I do not believe I would trust her with anything."

"Well done." He nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "You have always been quite adept at reading people and understanding their true motivations. I do believe you have hit the nail squarely on the head with both of them. What of Mrs. Willwright?"

"She, on the other hand, is as lovely as she appears." Margaret stretched out her legs and crossed her feet at her ankles. "I am glad to know her, and hope that we may keep up our acquaintance. If it pleases John, I will endure Fanny and her friend, but Mrs. Willwright and even Bessie Higgins I will seek to spend more time with."

He laughed, deeper and louder than she had heard from him in quite some time.

"What is so funny, Papa?" She looked about, thinking perhaps he had seen something remarkable which he found amusing. There was nothing unusual that would cause such a reaction.

"Oh, my dear, I am recalling the first time I met your Aunt Shaw." He laughed again. "I told myself the very same thing you have just said about Miss Thornton… I will get along with Anna Shaw if it pleases Maria." He shook his head. "Some days it has been far easier than others."

Margaret laughed. "At least she was already married and settled." She leaned over and bumped her shoulder into his. "And you did not have to worry about their mother tormenting you."

He pointed the tip of his pipe her direction. "Now there, you are quite right. Although your grandfather was quite a character and very protective of his daughters, he was nothing like the formidable Mrs. Thornton."

"You are as protective as Grandpapa, I believe," she said.

She remembered her mother's father as a rather stern man who did not smile much. He was always reading something in his library, a room she was never allowed inside.

"Yes." He nodded. "Of course, you are fortunate to have the added protection of Adam Bell."

"He is such a good man," she answered.

"The best friend I have ever know, for certain."

The door burst open and a group of people walked into the night and into their awaiting carriage. Perhaps the party was finally breaking up. Had John even noticed she and her father were no longer in the room?

"Shall we return?" he suggested. "You can stand with me and covertly watch people being silly."

"Yes, I believe I am ready to go back into the lion's den. Hopefully Miss Lattimer will leave me alone."

He leaned forward. "Are you a bit jealous, perhaps?"

"You heard the rumor then?" she asked. "She has supposedly been chasing Mr. Thornton for quite some time."

"I did not hear of it, but I saw the way she flaunted herself in front of him." He shook his head with a fierce frown. "Quite unbecoming and rather embarrassing. I am proud that you have never displayed such behavior."

 _At least not in public._ She had been plenty flirty in those rare private moments with John, but although it was quite difficult to do, she remained proper while in the company of others.

"I do not believe I am jealous," she answered his question. "Curious, for certain. However, I have no concern about his intentions toward me."

"That is good, my dear." He patted her arm. "I would have only reassured you that he is quite committed to the courtship."

"He has told you this?" This information pleased her.

He smiled. "He has. Do not be concerned. Mr. Thornton is a wealthy, young bachelor. Surely many young ladies would like to get their nails into him, but he has expressed that it is _you_ he wishes to keep company with." His fingertip tapped her on the nose and she laughed.

Just then, the man in question walked out the door, looking around wildly.

"There you are!" he said, stalking to the bench where they sat. A look of relief slid across his face.

"Papa needed air," she explained quickly, standing. "We were just about to go back inside."

"No need," John said. "The rest are coming out now, too."

And so they did. Laughing and seemingly indifferent to all around them, Fanny and Anne burst through the door into the night. Fanny saw John and said. "I will be in the carriage shortly. I am walking Anne to theirs."

A number of men followed, including Watson, several calling out to John. The Willwrights then came through and said goodbye. John placed his hand on her lower back and guided her and her father to the Thornton carriage parked down the block.

John did not speak the entire way, which was concerning. Was he angry with her for getting air with her father? The Thornton's driver opened the door, and her father stepped hastily inside. When Margaret moved to board, John instead pulled her aside.

"I was worried you left."

His concern was endearing but pointless. "Why would I leave without you?"

"Because I was not paying particular attention to you?" he suggested.

"I'm not the sort of girl that needs that constant type of attention," she answered quietly. "You were engaged in discussions, and Fanny and her friend seemed occupied as well. Papa suggested air." She shrugged. "I saw no harm in that."

He sighed, took her hands in his and leaned forward until their foreheads were nearly touching. "Always stay by my side, Margaret. That is where you belong."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty- One

"Margaret!" Mrs. Thornton's sharp reprimand jolted Margaret from her daydream.

Truly, she'd been daydreaming quite a lot lately.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Thornton." She cleared her throat, embarrassed to be caught inattentive. "What did you ask?"

With a frown, Mrs. Thornton repeated her question. "Would an extra course be welcomed, or will it leave the guests too full to stay awake following dinner?

Margaret could not have cared any less about this dinner for which she was writing out invitations. She would have much preferred to continue her daydream, or better still been _with_ John, whom she had been contemplating. He had left her with the most intimate of kisses the night before, promising between whispers of love, that he was looking forward to soon sharing so much more.

"Why are you blushing?" Fanny demanded of Margaret.

 _Oh my!_ "I've been caught woolgathering. Forgive me." Margaret straightened her shoulders. "No, I do not believe you need another course. The meal you have planned is just as my Aunt Shaw does in London, precisely for the same reason. She does not wish guests to feel they must eat, even after they are quite full."

"Yes," Mrs. Thornton answered with a firm nod, "we will continue just as we always have. No need to change things this year."

Feeling as if she had just passed some test designed by Mrs. Thornton to catch her off-guard, Margaret returned her attention to completing the stack of invitations sitting in front of her. There had to be a hundred names on the list the three women were sharing. How could Mrs. Thornton possibly expect to fit so many in her house, much less her table? She decided to ask just that.

"This may be a ridiculous question, but should all these people actually attend, where will you find room for all of them?"

The look on Mrs. Thornton's face called Margaret an idiot without words. Margaret should have held her tongue, and allowed the older women to her planning. The prestigious event had been held at her home for many years, surely she knew what she was doing! _Idiot._

Mrs. Thornton put down her pen with an exaggerated sigh. "Not even half of these families will attend, Margaret. Some of the invitations will go as far as America… India... and Eqypt. I have kept those to address as I wished to include a personal note. My son has associates all over the world, you see. To just be invited to this dinner is an honor."

"I see."

"Do you?" Mrs. Thornton barked.

Taken aback by the harshness of Mrs. Thornton's voice, Margaret studied her hands, resting in her lap. "I believe so? You wish for Mr. Thornton to continue to develop his contacts throughout the world and in Britain as well."

"That is true," Mrs. Thornton answered. "However, I do not think you understand the true importance of my son and what he has built in Milton, and the world."

 _Was he not just a mortal man?_

"To be sure he has built an impressive business, even to my untrained eye." Margaret knew she had some ground to make up in the woman's eyes and the best way to catch flies was with honey.

"Indeed," Mrs. Thornton agreed. "It is necessary that I do all I can to maintain and develop his reputation as the finest mill master in the world."

 _Why would it be Mrs. Thornton's duty?_ Maria Hale had no inclination to develop Margaret's reputation in Hellstone or London. That was Margaret's responsibility. Why was it different in Milton?

"It was quite obvious the men from Milton and even the London gentleman he met while visiting town found him remarkable." _But the whole world?_

"Of course! Why, I have no doubt he will one day be among the Members of Parliament. He has been a magistrate for nearly ten years already." Mrs. Thornton pointed at her. "People understand his worth, Margaret. You must as well… if you plan to continue to be part of his life."

 _Was that a threat?_

"Is that what he wishes to do?" Margaret asked. "Will he stand for an election to become a Member of Parliament? He has not mentioned that to me."

Was that a mother's wish or was that his? While Margaret could entirely see him being successful in such an endeavor, she was not certain _she_ was prepared to be in such a grand spotlight. Although, in truth, her Aunt Shaw had spent many years preparing Margaret for just such an event. What would her Aunt say if Margaret were to wed a Member of Parliament?

"What man would not wish to serve our country in such a capacity?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

Fanny snorted. "Who would _want_ to do such a thing?" She shook her blonde head. "All the work they must do, the meetings, the boring days listening to people ramble on." She shook her head again. "No thank you!" She folded the letters neatly in front of herself. "I am finished for now, Mama. Margaret come and allow me to show you my room. Perhaps we can play the piano for a bit before lunch?"

Margaret frowned at the girl. They had been working only _thirty minutes_. Margaret was determined to complete her assigned pile before lunch. Surely Fanny could not be serious.

"I have quite a few more to complete, Fanny." More like a few _dozen_ to complete.

"It's _so_ tedious!" Fanny whined, accentuating each syllable. "Mama, why not allow the maids to do it? Jane has as fine of handwriting as I do."

"Did you not just hear what I told Margaret?" Mrs. Thornton snapped. "It is _our_ duty to make your brother more prosperous and respected than he already is. _We_ must do this."

"Why is it _my_ duty?" She pounded the table with her small fists. "Soon I shall be married and far away from this dusty, sooty awful Milton and in a home of my very own."

"And how precisely do you intend to attract a suitor without the help of your brother? And do you not see, Miss Francine Thornton, you will only attract the finest man if you are associated with the best families which we invite to the Mill Master's Dinner each year?"

"Ugh!" Fanny huffed. "But what does that have to do with the writing of the invitations?"

Mrs. Thornton closed her eyes on a deep sigh. Margaret held her own breath, watching Mrs. Thornton grind her teeth, fretting what would spew forth from the older woman's mouth.

Mrs. Thornton's eyes finally snapped open. "Girl, you will be the death of my patience. Go on then, do as you wish, just as you always do!" She dismissed her daughter with the swish of her hand, and then turned her attention to Margaret. "Are you also in need of a diversion?"

"Not at all," Margaret answered quickly, calmly to avoid the woman's wrath. "I would like to see these completed before we are served lunch."

"Fine then," Mrs. Thornton resumed her writing, "Margaret and I shall complete these so _Princess Fanny_ can go off and play."

"Oh, Mother! Why must you always be so harsh?" Fanny yelled, and then stormed from the room, slamming the door for good measure.

Margaret's jaw hung open as she watched the exchange between mother and daughter. Never in her wildest dreams would she have spoken to an elder in such a way. She had cherished her dear mother, respected her greatly. She swallowed as tears began to form in her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Mrs. Thornton's gravelly, northern-accented voice was incredulous.

"Silly, really." Margaret pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her watery eyes as she chuckled at her failure to control her emotions. "I miss my mother at the strangest times."

A small smile tipped the edge of Mrs. Thornton's lips, softening her face.

"Did the two of you argue as Fanny and I do?" she asked quietly.

"Ah…" Margaret chuckled louder and then sniffed. "No. Not ever. Voices were never, ever raised in our home. I was a very compliant daughter. It is much the same between my Aunt Shaw and me. She and Edith never disagree so… passionately… either."

"You were a good daughter, then."

Margaret tilted her head to the side and shrugged. "I always tried to be. It was important to me that my mother was happy. She was a quite needy, rather fragile woman." She sniffed and dabbed one more time before putting her hanky back in her sleeve. "I am equally respectful of my aunt." She would never act like what she had just witnessed from Fanny.

Mrs. Thornton stared at her and then nodded. Quietly she added, "Thank you for finishing the invitations."

Margaret nodded. She might have earned a bit of respect from the older matron. She returned her focus to the work in front of her. There was a rather large list of names for her to finish, but she had faith they would be finished prior to John joining them for lunch… Ah, John… She smiled to herself and then felt a warm blush flood her cheeks. She would have to redouble attention to these cards, lest Mrs. Thornton catch her fantasizing once again about the handsome mill master.

"So it is a certainty then?"

"According to Mr. Nicholas Higgins," Hamper said his voice full of anger and disdain, "who did me the great _honor_ , you see, of coming to alert me. Yes, it is expected to occur at the bell Saturday evening."

John stood up from his desk with a heavy lump in his throat and moved to lean his hip against the long window overlooking the floor of his mill. If what Hamper reported was true, the machines would go idle Saturday evening, putting him even further behind in production and revenue.

"What is it they want this time?" John asked quietly, feeling great despair, yet unwilling to show the other master his misery.

"Higher wages."

John had known this was coming. There were always rumbles of discontent among his hands, but strikes seemed to be happening more often now. Why, this would be the second in less than a year! The workers did not seem to understand the difficulties he, as a master, was also facing. The fools thought holding back work was all they needed to do to receive higher wages. Such imbeciles!

He had such grand improvement plans for Milton! After returning from London, he had contacted an architect to develop an area on the outskirts of Milton, similar to what Titus Salt was undertaking in Yorkshire, and almost identical to what Dale and Arkwright had successfully accomplished at their woolen mills south of Glasgow years earlier. He'd gotten the approval and support of the Milton community leaders, and was waiting only for the money and time to implement his development plan. It appeared in the near future he may have plenty of time, but no funding to follow through with the development.

John rubbed his face with both hands and turned back to his colleague.

Hamper's arms were crossed against his big-barreled chest. "What shall our response be?"

There was only one thing the masters _could_ do.

"The Irish?" It almost felt like a curse rolling off John's tongue.

"You've contacted your man?" Hamper asked.

"Not as of yet, but I will." John turned back to the sight of perfect industry working below. "If you wish, I shall send off an express yet this afternoon."

"I suppose we must be prepared. If they could arrive already next week…"

"Not that soon… perhaps a fortnight…" John shrugged. "How many shall we request? Shall I account for the other mills?" He ran a ragged hand through his hair and faced Hamper once again.

"Let us call an emergency meeting tonight, Thornton. I'll send word 'round. Shall we meet at your home?"

"I suppose we must." John had anticipated spending the evening with Margaret, but clearly that was not in the cards. "Yes, my home would be acceptable for the meeting."

Hamper stood, his girth making it a slow rise. "Shall we say half-passed eight?"

John nodded curtly.

"Good day, Thornton." Hamper saluted before walking from the mill office.

John collapsed in his chair, much like what he imagined her mill would soon do. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he quickly began to rummage through the drawers of the heavy wooden desk. He paused in his digging as the whistle blew, and returned to his perch at the window to watch the machines shut down for the mid- day break. He remained there until the very last person left the mill floor. Few looked up to the window as they hurried out the door to eat their lunch and smoke their pipes, but John took note of each and every one of them.

Once Williams was the only one left on the floor, John returned to his desk. He needed to find the contact information for the Irish organizer before he headed to the mill house for lunch.

Knowing Margaret was already at the mill house with his mother was making him dig even faster. It had been hard to stay focused on work all morning, knowing she was but a short walk away. He had gotten up from his desk more than once, intent on seeing her. Each time, he was interrupted by something which pulled his attention back to work.

"Here it is," he said to himself.

He placed the paper under the corner of his ledger book to look at later, after his meeting with the masters that evening. The day would turn into a long one. How he would shift his attention from work woes to the beautiful Margaret, he could not say, but he needed to. She deserved his attention, even more than work did, especially knowing what was to come in the following days. Would she stand with him when things got tough? From experience, he knew the next month would be difficult, perhaps even longer if the strike dragged on.

When he stood again, he stretched to the ceiling, then re-fastened his shirt at the wrists and replaced his frock coat. A quick glance in the mirror by the door confirmed his tie was askew, and his hair a disheveled mess. He fixed his appearance quickly and headed out out of the office, down the stairs and into the vacant courtyard. Most of the hands left the mill, took to walking in the streets of Milton, just to get away… if only for a few minutes of freedom. He could hardly blame them, as he sometimes felt quite the same.

Williams was waiting at the gates as he often did, to ensure the mill remained calm at lunch. It was not terribly uncommon for a fight to break out, or a wrestling match. Williams was an excellent overseer, but had said more than once he was ready to retire to his finish his days fishing at the family's cabin on the Isle of Skye where his people were from.

Robbie Higgins would have been the perfect apprentice for Williams. Robbie was young, but had commanded the respect of many of the older workers through his dedication and hard work. In the beginning, Robbie worked hard and quickly, and seemed to have an inborn knack for fixing machinery. However, recently when the lad started skipping out early and arriving late, often still drunk from the night before, John knew he needed to dismiss the bastard. John had yet to find someone to replace him- on the floor or as an apprentice for Williams. With the looming strike, perhaps John would no longer have this worry.

Thinking of the strike, John called out to get Williams' attention.

"Yes, Master?"

John stepped up close to the older man, unwilling for any unseen ears to hear the conversation, lest they get more ideas.

"Have you heard any rumblings of a strike beginning tomorrow?"

Williams frowned in thought and then shook his head. "No, Master." He took a puff on his pipe, allowed only outside the gates of the mill, and frowned some more. "I will say there has been an odd feel these past few days, less jibber-jabber on the floor, but nothing of a strike."

"You'll let me know if you hear of anything?" John asked.

"Aye, sir."

John clapped him on the back and proceeded back on the original route to the mill house. Perhaps his men weren't interested in the strike? John already paid higher wages than what several of the other mills. He also offered what he felt were better working conditions. He was fair to his workers, hardly a harsh tyrant, but he did expect good work for their wage. However, when one mill walked out, the others usually did also. It would be interesting to see what the following day would bring.

But, for now, he rushed to mill house for his lunch and to see Miss Margaret Hale. He burst through the front door closing it with haste and rushed up the stairs to where he assumed the ladies would be sitting down to lunch. The clanking of silverware gave him a good idea he was correct, that they had begun eating. His mother was well trained to start lunch without him. Days she and Fanny waited for him often turned ugly, with Fanny whining the house down.

John straightened his coat and tie once again before entering the dining room.

"Hello ladies," he said, plastering a smile on his face, to cover the disappointing news from the mill that morning.

From habit, he immediately bent and kissed his mother on the cheek, wanting desperately to do the same to the lovely Miss Hale. She was sitting to the left of his mother, on the opposite side of the table, far out of reach. She was, however, smiling at him, and wearing a very flattering dress, with a blue a white vertical stripe design. He smiled back, wishing it were just the two of them, in which case he most certainly would have kissed her soundly.

"It's good you decided to join us," his mother quipped, dragging his attention back to her.

Jane was quick to put a plate in front of him, just as he took his seat at the opposite end of the table from his mother. "Mr. Hamper stopped by my office just as I was readying to join you."

"Yes?" his mother asked, wiping the corners of her mouth. "What news did he bring?"

"We can speak of that later." He smiled at Margaret. "Let us simply enjoy our lunch?"

They got down to the business of eating. Occasionally he would sneak at look at his beautiful Margaret. She was dainty, petite and oh so feminine! A delightful blush crossed her cheeks as he smiled at her. She quickly looked away, but a small smile still remained on her lips.

"Fanny is out visiting her friend, Miss Lattimer." His mother's voice interrupted their subtle flirting.

"I see," John answered. He really could not care less where his sister was. He wished his mother had gone calling with Fanny. "And how has your morning been?" He asked the room in general, hoping it would be Margaret that answered.

"Productive," his mother said. "Margaret was exceedingly helpful in completing the invitations. We will send them already this afternoon."

"Excellent."

"Are _you_ well, Mr. Thornton?" Margaret asked.

Could she read him so well already? He did not like her formal address, but with his mother here, she had reverted to her proper, London behavior.

He sighed heavily and set his spoon on the table next to his bowl. "No, I must say I am not well, Margaret." He intentionally used her Christian name, giving her the intimate respect she deserved. "I suppose I must tell you both." He glanced between the two women that he loved most in the world. "Hamper came to Marlborough Mills to confirm that his hands will be walking out at the evening bell tomorrow."

"A strike?" Margaret asked quietly. Her expression showed concern and confusion. "Can nothing be done?"

He chuckled without humor. "Mother and I had this very conversation." He gave the older woman a wry grin. "Williams has heard nothing of it from my workers."

"That is a good thing, is it not?" Margaret's face brightened. "Perhaps only Hamper's people will strike?"

He shook his head slightly. "The workers usually band together in such situations. It has happened where one mill has a work stop a few days before the others, but it is rather like a cascading effect. Once one walks out, they all withhold their labor."

"How long will it last?"

"Good question, my dear." He glanced quickly at his mother, wondering if she caught his accidental endearment. "It is hard to judge. The one this past fall was just two weeks. They chose a bad time to go on strike as their rents were due and without pay, landlords- not myself, mind, but others pressured them to return to work or lose their homes."

"What about the longest?" Margaret studied him over the rim of her tea cup. He could not miss the look of worry and concern in her eyes. She loved him. _She really did love him!_

He turned to the matriarch of the family to confirm his memory. "Was it six months, Mother?"

She nodded silently. They all paused as the whistle blew again, calling the hands back to work. He, however, was in no hurry to return.

"Years ago, soon after I took over as the master of the mill, the men went on strike. I thought that would be the end of Marlborough Mills, but fortunately, blessedly, Adam Bell saw my potential and invested in me." He paused, remembering that difficult time. "I have since paid him back his investment, of course, Margaret, but I will be forever grateful to him for his assistance."

She smiled. "Of course. My godfather is a very good man."

"We were much smaller then," he continued because Margaret seemed legitimately interested, and they had never spoken about the development of his Marlborough Mills. "We did not have the weaving shed at the back, nor did we have the number of workers or machines. I had but half of the looms I do now. It has taken some time to build what I have, what I am."

A wide smile covered Margaret's face. "You are far more than your mill, Mr. Thornton,"

"Margaret…" his mother interrupted. "By this time in your courtship I have no doubt you are calling my son by his Christian name. Do not feel you must address him so formally merely to please me."

John chuckled. "I thought to mention that as well." He ate a few bites of his ham before continuing. "I know I have said this before, Margaret, but for so many years my life has been just the mill and my mother and Fanny. Our family has revolved solely around the prosperity of the business. With the strike imminent… well there are added… worries. I found out earlier this week one of my buyers was forced to close his doors." He set aside his fork and took a sip of tea. "I am not at all certain what is to come."

A heaviness settled at the table. He could tell Margaret was pondering the consequences, just as he had been over the past days and months. She would not understand the full situation, could not know how not only their lives would be turned upside down, but the whole of Milton. She had lived such a sheltered, pampered life, how would she cope?

"You have overcome them in the past, you will do so again," Margaret stated simply, and then resumed her eating.

Her confidence in him was humbling, but perhaps naïve. He glanced at his mother who wore a rather puckered expression on her face. She was no doubt thinking just as he was. Margaret would have to learn the hard way, through experience. And, while he had overcome plenty of strikes, where he now sat financially, this might well be the end of Marlborough Mills.

"Hamper and the others will be here after closing time tonight," he said. "Margaret." When she looked up, he continued, "I know we had planned to spend the evening together, so I must apologize."

She shook her head while chewing. "I am glad to share the time with you now."

"Is she always this compliant, John?" his mother asked with a soft snort.

He smiled at Margaret, feeling blessed beyond belief. "Yes, she is very good." His heart skipped a beat when she smiled broadly back at him.

"The invitations are finished, John, perhaps you and Margaret would like to post them together?"

"Yes, that is a fine idea, Mother." He set his napkin next to his plate, his appetite as low as his spirits that afternoon. "I have something to send off on the northern express as well. If you are finished eating, Margaret, would you like to join me at my office to fetch the letter and then we can be on our way?"

"Yes." Margaret turned to his mother. "Mrs. Thornton shall we place the invitations in a basket for the post?"

"Yes, Margaret, that is a fine idea," Mrs. Thornton said. "Jane!"

"I'm sorry you have such heavy problems weighing on you, John," Margaret said quietly.

Her hand tightened on his arm as they walked down New Street, returning to the mill from their trip to the post office. They had hardly spoken to another on their short journey to the post. John was clearly lost in his thoughts about mill issues, and she… well, she was still unsettled by the Fanny/ Mrs. Thornton argument and the worry about what was to come to pass if a strike did occur. It had not been an uncomfortable silence, she enjoyed simply being with the man. She wished she could somehow lighten his worries.

"Let us talk of happier matters," John said, smiling down at her. "The sun is finally shining today and I am with my favorite girl, if only for a little bit of time." He pulled her closer to his side.

When he spoke like that her heart swelled. Just when she thought it was not possible to care for him more, she found herself falling more in love with him! She thought ahead to the years they would share together, the family they would raise. If only the strike were not looming, she knew life would be perfect for them.

"Father is excited to begin reading with you," Margaret said. Looking up at him she smiled. "Will you come tomorrow night? If only to get away from the mill for a bit?"

 _Would tomorrow be the beginning of the end of Marlborough Mills?_

"I can, yes, with pleasure." He nodded. "But, I do wish to be at the mill when the hands leave. I worry there will be discord and Williams will not be able to control a great mob of discontented fools."

She stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk and John immediately followed suit. "May I be with you?"

"Be with me?" John frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

She reached for his hand, indifferent to the stares and sly looks people were sending their way. "May I stand with you in your office, overlooking the floor as the workers leave the mill? Perhaps your mother as well? Shall we not show them they cannot break you?"

"You would do that?"

She nodded quickly.

He looked away from her, over the top of her head, yet she could see the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he nodded silently and moved them along out of the traffic of the main street. He suddenly took her free hand and pulled her down a deserted alley between two tall brick buildings and took her into his arms. She laughed at the suddenness of his movements, but quickly sunk into his warm embrace.

She closed her eyes on a sigh and held him tight, her cheek resting against his heart. They stood like this for quite some time, slowly rocking to the music of the street traffic only feet away. When he pulled away, she looked up to judge his mood.

He moved too quickly for her to see his face clearly as he lowered his head to kiss her. His lips were rough, demanding, but she liked it, rejoiced in the passion he was showing. He pushed her gently against the brick wall of the haberdashery building behind her. His hands moved along her sides, his thumbs gently brushing the underside of her breasts. He pressed himself against her, making her feel light headed and hot. He'd never been quite this… demanding… before, but she was more than pleased to accept his attentions.

Minutes passed by as she enjoyed his sweet torture. John slowly backed away, a dazed look upon his face. He licked his lips and smiled softly before cupping her face with his hands. "Margaret, I am so in love with you," he whispered. He bent and kissed her quickly again. "I cannot place my feelings into words."

He pulled her back into his arms and rested his cheek on her head, setting her hat askew. She sighed, with such a deep feeling of contentment she'd never experienced before now.

"I would like you to be there by my side, my love. In truth, I never wish to be parted from you again."

 _I never wish to be parted from you again._

When he pulled back and took her hands in his he had such a serious, intense look upon his face, she held her breath. Could this finally be the moment he officially proposed marriage? In a dirty, dank, musty alleyway?

Instead, he said. "Yes, please be with me tomorrow at the final whistle. And, you are quite right about the hands… they will not break me, my love. They will not." He hugged her again, his sigh caressing her cheek.

 _Always business_.

She fought hard not to show her disappointment. She faked a smile, truly glad that he was including her in his life, at whichever level he could right now. Marriage would come in time… or so she hoped. For now she would enjoy their courtship and pray that the mill closure would not interfere too drastically with their future happiness.

When they returned to New Street, she could not look at John, embarrassed by the liberties she had allowed… in a public space! Anyone could have seen her, and what a disgrace that would have been. If her father had learned of her behavior…. She would have to be more careful with John, especially if he was unwilling to ask for her hand.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

"You'll recognize this flower, of course, Bessie."

Margaret placed the purple flowers under her dear friend's nose and allowed her to smell the sweet, tangy fragrance. Bessie took such a long whiff, Margaret worried Bessie would fall into one of her nasty coughing spells. But, she didn't, instead, smiling and opening her eyes.

"Lavender." She handed the stem back to Margaret. "Oh, Miss, that is one of me favorites.

Margaret was visiting Bessie today instead of lunching with the Thorntons. She had stopped along the way into the Princeton district to pick flowers for her dear, dying friend. Bessie looked worse today than she ever had. Brown lung they called it, a horrible, debilitating illness caused by cotton fibers. There was no cure, and except for shortness of breath and chest pain, Bessie claimed she was not suffering. She worried about her sister, Mary, and her father, Nicholas after she died, but she never worried for herself.

"Give me another," Bessie said. "Then tell me again what happened on Saturday at the mill."

Margaret chose a white fluffy plant stem and handed it to her. "Don't smell that one, it will make you sneeze," she said. "I just want you to feel its softness."

Bessie did as Margaret suggested and handed it back. "That is what Pa always called _Old Man's Beard._ Have you a different name for it?"

"Yes. My father called it _Traveler's Journey_ because it crawls across the hedgerows." Margaret laughed. "He did not like it because it choked out the roses."

"Are roses your favorite, then?"

"I love all flowers, Bessie." Margaret smiled gently. "They make me smile and feel happy."

"Then what has you so grim today?" Bessie asked. "Yer never so glum. Tell me." Bessie grabbed Margaret's hand. "What troubles you? You always listen to my worries!"

Uncomfortable by Bessie's close scrutiny, Margaret stood hastily and busied herself looking for a vase or a cup to place the small bouquet of wildflower within. Margaret was indeed in low spirits.

"Tell me, Miss! What has you sad?"

"I'm not sad," Margaret told her. She twisted her lips to find the right words to express how she felt. "I am confused and feel a bit lost, but I am not sad."

"Is it the strike?" Bessie sipped from the cup of water Margaret handed her. "Is it your pa or Mr. Thornton, or… what?"

"I suppose it is all of these, yes."

Margaret sunk back into the chair next to Bessie's bed with a deep sigh. The girl was never out of bed anymore when Margaret visited. She was too weak to carry herself much further than the chamber pot or to get water in the small kitchen area. How fast she was declining!

Bessie reached for her hand. "Tell me, lass."

 _"_ _Life has no blessing like a true friend."_

"Who said that?"

"I just did." Margaret laughed. "But it was Euripides who coined it first. My father would be quite pleased I am quoting a Greek playwright."

"Euripides." Bessie tried the name on her tongue. "Did he write many plays?"

"Almost twenty, I believe. They were all tragedies ending in _death_ and _despair_." Margaret emphasized the words and then smiled. "Not at all what I enjoy reading, you see. But father teaches such works, and as such I have heard them discussed for many years." She smiled softly at her friend, hoping she had effectively moved on to a new, safer topic.

"How lucky you are, Miss." Bessie sighed and closed her eyes. She tired so easily these past few days.

"I am, Bessie. That is why I do not wish to share my puny troubles with you."

"Please?" Bessie begged. "I need something to think of beyond me."

Margaret sighed. She didn't want to think about her worries, but to satisfy her friend, she would.

"The mill, Miss. Tell me about that Saturday night."

It had been a full week and three days since the night Bessie mentioned. During that time so much had happened, Margaret was not certain where to begin. Bessie asked about the Saturday, something she had already told her about, but Margaret was willing to humor her with a repeat of the incident.

"Mr. Thornton told me and his mother that the hands would be walking out at the bell on Saturday night," Margaret began. "I stood with him as the bell whistled and machines stopped. His mother was on his right, I was on his left, overlooking the floor."

"Those windows are so big, Miss Margaret, I am certain you could see everything."

Margaret would not tell her friend that John refused to hold her hand as the workers left the floor, or that he left her standing alone in the office. He had stormed out of the mill office furious, his mother trailing after him. Margaret had refused to follow him, remembering a time when his anger was equally fierce. He had never shown anything but gentleness toward her, but she did not wish to witness his mood.

"I returned to the mill house briefly, and their carriage saw me home to the boy's school."

She returned to the house and although she was welcomed inside by a maid, she was told that Mr. Thornton was not to be disturbed. How that had hurt! He left her all alone, when he should have included her in his time of need.

"But surely you saw Mr. Thornton Sunday?" Bessie asked.

"I did not," Margaret answered softly. She shifted on her chair, uncomfortable talking about herself. "He had much to see to that day, and we did not attend services as father was quite busy with many of the boys finally arriving for classes. Papa needed my help to make certain the young men entrusted to him were comfortable and well settled."

She had sat with more than one little homesick boy evenings this week. One in particular was quite sad, missing his younger brothers more than his parents. Margaret was good with children, was able to calm him well. The housemother was not particularly loving and gentle, rather followed a stern protocol from days passed. Margaret prayed with the young man, and told him a story, sitting with him until he fell asleep. There had been three others that needed her gentle care, but this boy, Tom, was in particular need of support.

"He came Tuesday and Thursday evenings to meet with my father for lessons, and stayed with me for some time."

He had not been himself, rather distracted and short tempered. Dixon had increased his ire with her impertinent questions and comments. Margaret had hoped to spend more time with John this week as the mill was not in operation. Instead, she had seen him less. Friday, she had dined at the mill house with Watson, Fanny and Mrs. Thornton.

"Bessie, I forgot to tell you! Fanny Thornton is engaged to be married!"

"Well that was fast!" Bessie exclaimed with a snort.

Oh, how that had hurt! Fanny and Mr. Watson engaged after just over a fortnight of courting! Indeed, it felt as if a knife had been shoved in her stomach and twisted. Margaret made it through that dinner, but made excuses to leave quickly after. John seemed oblivious to the pain Fanny's announcement made. Margaret was pleased for the girl, but so jealous! Fanny was beautiful, it was easy to understand Watson's interest, but John and Margaret were so well matched in every way… what in the world was he waiting for?

"Yes, indeed!" Margaret breathed. "Mr. Thornton said Mr. Watson brought up the subject of courting Fanny first when they were visiting London, when I first became acquainted with the men. However, Mr. Watson and Fanny did not begin spending time with each other until quite recently."

"Love at first sight, eh?"

Margaret thought back to her first sight of John. Tall, broad-shouldered and raven haired, he had caught her attention immediately. His stance had been powerful, his face rather stern, angular, not quite handsome, but his charismatic personality made his plain looks rather irrelevant. Now that she knew him, knew his heart, she found him to be the most beautiful man alive. Even if she was rather cross with him at the moment.

"Perhaps." Margaret's lips twitched. She was rather certain there was no _love_ on either Fanny or Watson's parts. Fanny wanted Watson's money and Watson wanted Fanny's…

She cleared her throat and tried to eliminate the unwelcomed vision that appeared in her head. Had Watson and Fanny already kissed as passionately as she and John had in the alleyway? Margaret wondered if the girl had even allowed the much older man to even hold her hand.

"I reckon Mr. Thornton is just waiting for the perfect time to ask for your hand." Bessie suddenly sat up straight. "I'm betting it will happen at that fancy dinner at his house!"

"Fanny asked if she might announce her engagement that very evening and Mr. Thornton agreed to do it."

Margaret had scurried away like an injured rabbit following dinner. John had been quite solicitous, planning to accompany her home in their carriage. Margaret had declined, he had a guest at his home and should stay and visit. He'd quipped that Watson wouldn't be a guest for very long, but part of the family… Oh, how that had pained her as _she_ would apparently continue to be a _guest_ in their mill house for some time!

She sighed. The man was just dense, it seemed. Perhaps all men were? Aunt Shaw said men were interested in just two things… money and their carnal needs, and Margaret should never address either.

"Did you have a beau, Bessie?" Margaret asked. How could she be so selfish and not inquire about Bessie's loves.

A small grin formed on the girl's pale face. "Aye, but when me mum died, Pa made me break it off." She stretched her legs out under the coverlet. "He needed me to be helping with Mary rather than running about with Ian."

"Did you love him?" Margaret asked.

Bessie frowned in consideration. "Naw. I was not sad for long after we parted. I missed me mum, though. I started working at Marlborough Mills just then, too. He worked with pa at Hampers, I worked with Robbie at Thornton's." She shrugged. "We went on walks that was about it."

"No kisses?" Margaret teased.

Bessie grinned and flushed. "Perhaps a few of those."

Just then the door burst open, its heavy wood rattling against the paper-thin walls of the back-to-back house. Nicholas Higgins stepped inside, the smell of alcohol wafting in behind him.

"He's been to the Dragon," Bessie whispered to Margaret, speaking of the local pub that many of the mill workers frequented.

"Hello, Mr. Higgins." Margaret stood, feeling stronger when facing him upright. She was, in fact, slightly taller than him.

She smiled, hoping that would lessen his temper, but she was wrong.

"Leave," he said simply, but with a firmness Margaret was not certain she could sway. "I'll not have you with Bessie no more. You are Thornton's woman and Thornton is my enemy. You then are me enemy, too."

"Mr. Higgins, Mr. Thornton is not your employer," she reminded him. "How can you hate him?"

"I hate 'em _all._ Those greedy bastards ain't got no respect for none of us workers. Treat us like dogs, they do. Thornton ain't the worst of the lot, but he fired me Robbie and beat him up but good."  
"Pa you know what Robbie done," Bessie argued. "It ain't Mr. Thornton's fault that he got sacked."

"See what you done, Miss Margaret? You got Bessie on your side. Soon she'll be telling me to swallow me pride and go back to work, but I ain't gonna do it without more money." He shook his head before dropping heavily in a chair by the table.

Margaret walked to the water pitcher and poured him a glass. "Have you coffee, sir?"

"That comes at a dear price." He rubbed his work-worn hands over his unshaven face.

"I thought to make some for you," Margaret said quietly. "You seem a bit… tipsy, sir."

"Aye… that I am… that I am. What else do I got? I got a dying daughter and one touched in the head." He tapped his temple.

Margaret was not certain what to say to Mr. Higgins. She considered what she had heard her father say in similar situations when he was ministering to the needy and downtrodden. There was such great hopelessness in the many people he spoke with, despair and sadness blocking them from finding peace and looking to the future. Mr. Higgins displayed the same weariness, but she knew she must say something.

"You have your life," Margaret said, choosing her words carefully. "You must make the best of it."

"I won't be preached to by some clergyman's daughter!"

"Then listen to _me_ , Pa," Bessie said, pounding the bed next to where she sat like a waif. "I want you to go back to work. When you walked out last time, it was quickly done. Now… well now yer hanging on. You must return to work!"

"For what purpose?" Mr. Higgins demanded, banging the table. "To be treated like a bloody damn dog?"

"Your very livelihood, Mr. Higgins," Margaret said quietly. "If the mills fail, you will have no work, and Milton will fail to exist!"

"Ach I can always dig ditches, Lass," he argued.

There was that. He did not have to work in a mill, she supposed, but… "Would that pay as well as Mr. Thornton or Mr. Hamper?"

When he shook his head, he looked like a bull dog with his jowls swinging back and forth. "No, but I can be my own boss, set me own hours."

He was not thinking logically. He would earn less as a ditch digger, and still wanted to work less hours. The work was certainly more physically strenuous, and would leave his already abused body further broken. Instead of argue that point, she thought about Robbie, the man who fought with John.

"Was that your son's desire as well?" Her hands balled into fists on her hips. "To be his own boss, to come and go just as he wished?"

"Leave 'im outta this," Higgins pounded the table again. "This is me we're talking about."

Margaret swallowed. She would not back down. She did not think he would strike her. Bessie said he was a good father, had never hit her, Mary or their mother. He was angry, without a doubt, but she believed she was safe in this home.

"Mr. Higgins," she gentled her voice, "can you not speak to the masters like man? Tell them your needs and come to a compromise?"

He snorted. "I told you, Lass, they treat us like dogs as if we got no brain in our 'eads."

"Have you tried?" she persisted.

He just stared at her, a firm line to his mouth.

"If I could arrange a meeting… just between you and Mr. Thornton… would you come?" she pleaded.

At first, he shook his head a determined no. However, at Bessie's insistence, he conceded that he would consider it.

"He won't come 'ere," Mr. Higgins predicted.

"Well, I am not certain." She was hopeful she could convince John to meet with Mr. Higgins. What if he refused? Men were so silly, but a discussion was what needed to occur between the men and the masters. "I will let you know when I come to visit Bessie on Thursday."

"Fine."

"Fine." She was not happy with him, found him stubborn as a mule, but she could be firm as well. She walked back to the Bed where Bessie lay flaccid. "Bessie, I must go to the foundling home now." Margaret rested a soft hand on her shoulder. "I will be back Thursday morning unless your father calls for me sooner."

"Goodbye, Miss." It came out as a whisper. Bessie was slowly drifting off to sleep.

"Goodbye Bessie," Margaret whispered. Mr. Higgins stood. "Goodbye, Mr. Higgins." She held out her hand which he clasped in a firm shake. "Take care."

An odd, lonely feeling overcame Margaret as she left the small hovel rented by the Higgins family. She paused, looking around slowly at the shared courtyard. One woman was plucking a chicken, the smell of blood ripe in the air. Another was washing laundry, hanging _clean_ clothing on the line that was dirtier than the clothing Margaret now wore. She sighed and continued her walk. She had never felt in danger while in the Princeton district, but she was cautious, and it seemed to have become far more dismal and depressing since the strike began.

Mr. Bell's carriage was waiting for her at the bottom of a tall staircase, perhaps an eighth of a mile from the edge of the Princeton district. The driver popped open the door as soon as he saw her descend the cement stairs. She had him park a distance away so people would not know she used the carriage, or who she was. She did not wish to seem so far above these folks, the good people of Princeton. If she arrived on Bessie's doorstep in a gilded carriage, it would be hard to disguise her connections, and she would likely be ostracized.

"To the foundling home, please," she told the driver, as he helped her inside the carriage.

He closed the door behind her and crawled back up in the cab, soon cracking the reins for the horses to be on their way. She was excited to see Gert Willwright again. It had been a few days since Margaret had been there and she had not told her about Fanny and Mr. Watson yet.

The children always brought such joy to Margaret's heart, lightened her mood. The mill's stoppage was so troubling and weighing heavily on her, it was a pleasure and relief to have somewhere to go, where the outside world did very little to interfere with the daily operations. Children were born and abandoned. They needed to be clothed and fed and educated. These facts did not rely on the economy of Milton, although in the coming months, more children might be dropped off if their parents could no longer pay to support their family.

 _So sad_.

The ride to the foundling home was short. When she arrived, the driver popped off his roost and escorted her from the carriage. After seven visits, Margaret no longer knocked at the door or waited for entrance. Instead, she entered, hung her garments in the hallway on her assigned hook and found Gert sitting on the floor, reading to a small group of children.

By the window was the little girl who loved to twirl. Margaret had met the little lady called Lily on her first visit to the home. As soon as the girl saw Margaret, she stopped her twirling and ran into Margaret's skirts. Margaret went down on one knee and pulled the little blonde into her arms and held her close.

"Hello sweetheart," Margaret said. "How are you this fine day?"

"Miss Margaret look! I lost a toof." Lily pulled her bottom lip down with a tiny finger to show Margaret. "Miss Bea says I will get a big girl toof!" She nodded her little head to punctuate each word.

"Yes that is true." Margaret kissed Lily's forehead and moved aside her bouncing blonde curls. "And how is your baby Kenneth today?"

"Rebecca said owly." She scrunched her forehead. "I dunno what that means."

Margaret laughed and hugged the girl tight. "It means he is unhappy and cross."

"Ohhh!" Lily started hopping from one foot to the other. "Bye!" She waved and skipped away, likely wanting to twirl some more.

Margaret stood and watched the girl for some time, thinking back to the days at Helstone when she too would twirl and spin under the clear sky and sunshine. Those were carefree days when she understood only that life was about fun and play, when she didn't know that people could lose their faith, and mothers could die.

"You know, Lass," Gert came up next to her, "as much love as you have for little Lily and her brother Kenneth you and Mr. Thornton ought to consider adopting them once you get married."

Another knife in her heart. After the week she and John had shared, full of tension and silence, Margaret was uncertain they were headed toward the chapel at all. But, Gert was right. Margaret did care for those two urchins. A ready-made family might be too much to handle for John, but to see these sweethearts in a fine home, cared for and loved might be worth the few days of uncertainty. However, such plans hinged on their wedding, which was still an uncertainty.

"Speaking of marriages!"

"Oh, did Thornton finally ask for you?" Gert squealed.

"Ah, no." _Sadly._

"What then?" Gert asked.

"Fanny Thornton and Mr. Watson." Margaret whispered.

"No!" Gert looked shocked. "Truly? Do tell!"

The children who Gert had been reading with scurried away to get their mid-morning tea, leaving the two of them alone. Often Margaret would go to the nursery during this time and cuddle with baby Kenneth and the others, but today she was in need of a friend. They moved to the comfortable chairs by the large window overlooking the garden, and took a seat.

"Indeed, they have become engaged," Margaret said quietly.

"But he is so old!" Gert snapped. "Far too old for her, no?"

Margaret shrugged. It was not her place to judge. "She seems quite pleased with the match, as does Mr. Thornton and his mother. They plan to announce their betrothal at the Mill Master's Dinner Thursday."

Gert frowned, pensive. "I suppose if everyone is pleased, I should be as well. I wonder though if she likes _him_ or his _money_?"

"I hate to say that I considered the same thing," Margaret admitted. _Was that being traitorous toward the Thorntons?_

"Have you decided what you will wear for the dinner party?" Gert asked. "I received word this morning before coming here that my dress was ready at my modiste. Perhaps you would like to join me picking it up and then we can stop for tea at my favorite spot?"

"Yes! I would love to. Thank you." Margaret craved female friendship, someone who understood what it was like to be a newcomer in Milton.

"And what about your dress?" Gert persisted.

Margaret smiled. "My Aunt Shaw from London sent me a gown. It arrived yesterday."

"Oh? How fortunate! She knows your size?"

Margaret chuckled. "She has been buying my gowns for a decade or longer. I doubt I have lost or gained any significant weight since moving here."

"Well, what does it look like?"  
"I do not know." She laughed again. "My Aunt Shaw's letter said I could not open it until the day of the dinner."

"Ach, I could not wait! A new gown!"

"I must be honest, Gert. Fashion is not so important to me. Not that I do not wish to look fine, I just… well... it is not as important to me as if it seems to be to others."  
"Fanny Thornton, perhaps?"

Margaret Chuckled. "Yes, she seems to be quite obsessed with muslin and silks and ribbons and slippers."

"Well, Lass, _I_ am not, so you and _I_ shall stick together!" Gert patted Margaret's hand. "Shall we go and fetch the children and take them to enjoy some sun in the garden?"

"A fine idea, Gert. I know I could use some fresh air!" _And something to think about other than weddings._


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty- Three

John roamed the room for at least the thirtieth time. He had even been counting the steps he paced from one end of the sitting room to the other, awaiting Margaret's return home to the small cottage on the grounds of the boy's school. He had had plenty of time to study the sitting room she had decorated with furniture and memories from the Hale's Helstone home. The room felt just as Margaret made him feel; warm, cozy and welcome. It was a stark contrast to his mother's rooms at the mill house. His mother's possessions were sparse, but of high quality, purchased for show rather than comfort. Even in his own private rooms, the furniture was cold and purposeful, rather than welcoming or created to encourage relaxation after a long day at the mill. He had never been encouraged to collect possessions, instead saving every farthing he could. He did have books, though, and as he looked around the small room, he was pleased to see large volumes strewn about, left by the reader open and ready to go when the urge to read next struck.

He leaned against the fireplace and stared out into the courtyard where some small boys were kicking a ball, remembering a time he had done the same thing, in the same exact spot. Perhaps it was on purpose that his mother failed to include anything from their past? The suicide of his father had nearly destroyed her. The day after the senior Thornton was put in the ground, his mother packed everything that was his away. Since then, John had seen nothing of his father's belongings. His father had an extensive book collection, but they, along with his clothing, his shoes, his hats… Everything that John remembered of his father simply vanished. John could remember what the man looked like, sometimes he would catch a whiff of the tobacco he used, but there were no tangible reminders anywhere at the mill house.

In stark contrast, items that Margaret's mother had sewn and carefully handcrafted were scattered all over this lovely room. Her initials, _MBH_ , decorated the corners of embroidered pillows and small paintings hanging next to the fireplace. Her spirit lived on, even if her body was no longer present. Margaret had indeed made a comfortable home for her father, just as she had set out to do here in Milton.

John wished, not for the first time, that he could convince his mother to move on, and embrace the good memories she had experienced while times were happy and stable in the Thornton home. Instead, she continued to wear her mourning dresses, bleak and black and maintained a dour demeanor, treating others with ire rather than acceptance. When was the last time John had heard her laugh?

John turned quickly toward the sitting room door as he heard the front door of the home open. Angry and frustrated with Margaret, he wasn't certain how he would react when she walked in the room. He folded his hands behind his back and waited for her to come in. The front door closed and shuffling could be heard, but it wasn't Margaret that entered the sitting room, but Mr. Hale.

John sighed. _Where the bloody hell was the girl?_

"Why hello, John!" Mr. Hale smiled and rushed toward him extending his weathered hand. "Did we have a meeting I forgot about?" The older man shook his head. "I've become rather forgetful lately with so many things happening at the school. Without Margaret I do not believe I would know if I was coming or going!" Mr. Hale clapped John's shoulders with his hands and cupped them. "She has been my salvation, John. I do not know… without Maria…" Mr. Hale quickly blinked away the tears formed in the corner of his eyes.

As strong as John's feelings were for Margaret, after only four months, John could hardly imagine how attached he would be after a quarter of a century- the length of time the Hales had been married. Mr. Hale's loss was great, and as he settled heavily in his overstuffed, well-loved chair, John saw it in every inch of woe on his careworn face.

"Forgive my sentimentality today. The boys have been rather difficult. Perhaps there is a weather change coming? Or a full moon? Mrs. Proctor, the cook, tells me these changes will affect the boys' dispositions." He waved to the sofa. "Please, do have a seat, John. What is it that brings you here today?"

"Well, I thought to spend the afternoon with your daughter. As lovely as the weather has been, a walk would have been quite enjoyable." The sofa was close, and John quickly folded himself onto it.

Dixon, who had been nervously hovering over John since he arrived, scurried into the room, with a tray of tea and cakes. She had not had the courtesy to offer John refreshments as he waited for Margaret, and even now she gave John a bitter, sour look and tipped up her nose.

"Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Hale?"

"No, Dixon," Mr. Hale answered her with a head shake. "We will see to the refreshments ourselves."

She nodded, and barely spared John a glance before leaving, closing the door with a firm click.

John chuckled as he poured a cup of tea and added a dash of milk and sugar before handing it to Mr. Hale. "I do not think your maid approves of me."

Mr. Hale accepted the cup from John with a nod. "I find her an incredible snob," Mr. Hale whispered. "I do not think she cares much for me, either. However, I always believed her to be jealous of my time with Maria. Dixon had been her lady's maid since Maria was quite young. I do not think she believed I was good enough for her lady. And, I suppose, she does not feel you are quite good enough for my daughter, either."

"Because I am a manufacturer?" John asked. "A man of trade?" He sipped the tepid tea, disappointed the maid had taken so little care to prepare the refreshments.

"That." Mr. Hale nodded. " _And_ you are _not_ Henry Lennox."

"That barrister fellow from London?"

"Yes, indeed." Mr. Hale swallowed his tea and set the delicate china cup on its saucer and then on the table. He reached forward and snagged a small cake. "Margaret made lemon ones again. They are so delicious."

Just as she had done in London, for the dinner where they had first met.

"I thought perhaps Miss Hale and Mr. Lennox were… _involved_ with each other when I first met her. I did ask," John admitted, "but she said it was not so."

Mr. Hale nodded thoughtfully, chewing his biscuit carefully. "Indeed, Mr. Lennox seems quite devoted to Margaret. Since Edith first met Captain Lennox, Henry has been attached to Margaret. I believe Henry and Edith concocted a scheme to keep Margaret in London and marry Lennox so she and Edith could remain in the same house forever." Mr. Hale refilled his teacup, unaware at how rapt John stared at him for more in-depth information about the relationship between the two.

John knew there was something brewing with Lennox, but Margaret had been so blasé about their connection, John had questioned his read on the situation. "And your daughter, sir? Did she share the attachment with Mr. Lennox?" He had to know!

Hale chuckled. "Quite the contrary. In Margaret's eyes, Lennox was simply a friend, part of her group of friends. He was nothing extraordinary in her eyes, despite his personal attentions. If you ever watch closely when he is around, she constantly dodges him." Hale's shoulders shook with laughter. "It is rather entertaining, and I am not at all certain she even realizes she is doing it!"

John chuckled, not at the idea of Lennox chasing after Margaret, but rather Mr. Hale's reaction to it. However, it was just as John had hoped. Margaret was not as keen on Lennox as he was on her.

"I do believe he asked for her hand when he last visited Helstone at Christmas, just before my Maria passed away," Mr. Hale said quietly. "We had the family at the vicarage for the holiday because Maria was too ill to travel and holidays were always quite important to her."

"Henry Lennox came along?" John asked, surprised that he would be included in a a family celebration _especially_ with Mrs. Hale so ill.

"Yes, with his brother, the captain."

Margaret had not mentioned the proposal, but it was hardly surprising the way Henry had clung to her skirts when they were in London. John wished he would have been the first to ask for her hand, the only… If all went well at least he could be the last.

It was a fine opening for John, and he jumped on it. He crept to the edge of the sofa and folded his hands between his knees. He looked over to the older man, realizing he would have to do this _just right_. What John said here could not be retracted or changed. Mr. Hale's next few words would change John's life forever.

"Mr. Hale," John swallowed his nerves, "with your blessing, I wish to ask Miss Hale to be my wife. I am hopeful she will accept me, in spite of the rough economy at present."

He rushed through the request, not only worried that there may not be another such private moment, but that she may arrive and spoil the opportunity, or he might choke and fail to get the request all the way out. Mr. Hale was hardly intimidating, certainly not as bad as some of the cotton traders John had met, but he was still concerned about the man's answer.

"Yes, of course you have my blessing," Mr. Hale answered, without hesitation. "I would be well pleased and honored to call you my son."

That was far easier than John had anticipated. He smiled broadly and leaned forward, reaching out his hand to shake Mr. Hale's. "I thank you. I, too, will be very glad to be part of your family."

John could tell by his expression Mr. Hale was considering something rather grave and serious. Had he changed his mind already?

"I suppose we must discuss terms, eh? Is that not the next step?" He cleared his throat, a nervous habit John had noticed appear when Mr. Hale was uncomfortable. "I am rather… embarrassed… to admit I have not set aside significant funds for a dowry. Just one hundred pounds." The older man flushed. "Mrs. Shaw, however, did put up a hundred pounds each year Margaret stayed in London with her. So, in truth Margaret will come with a thousand pounds and whatever her godfather might gift her."

 _One thousand pounds did not an heiress make._ That is what his mother would say. One thousand pounds would almost pay off his note at the bank, but it would not be enough to pay the workers' wage should the strike continue any longer. He had money in reserve for the running of his household, but he hoped she would be gifted with more than that!

"Money is not so important to my Margaret," Mr. Hale hurriedly continued. Did he think John would lose interest by the lack of money? "Even though she was raised in such fine conditions in London, we lived rather humbly in Helstone. "I would say she was just as happy at the vicarage as she was in Harley Street, London."

That was what John believed to be true as well.

"I did not expect her to be well dowered, Mr. Hale. It was not her wealth that has attracted me." _But a bit more would have helped!_

"I am glad to hear that." Mr. Hale paused and quietly stood before walking to the window. "I thought I heard a carriage and sure enough, here is Mr. Bell's with Margaret inside."

 _Finally!_

"When do you intend to speak with her?" Mr. Hale asked. He placed the curtains back in place and looked at John.

"I will arrange a moment during the Mill Master's Dinner. My mother… is hesitant about the situation. She fears I am rushing things, but I do not concur. Is it strange, Richard, that I knew from the moment I touched her hand that she was the woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my days?"

"As you have no older man to guide you, I shall share with you my own experience." Mr. Hale stepped forward and rested a comforting hand on John's shoulder. "When you find the person your heart cries out for, do not doubt your course of action. If it is Margaret, proceed without concern. Any apprehensions and anxieties will resolve, including your mill matters."

John nodded, choked up by the intensity of the man's stare.

"Excuse me, I shall greet her at the door as she often does me." Mr. Hale patted John's shoulder and then made his way through the sitting room door and into the foyer.

John stood, as before, and braided his hands behind his back, waiting for Margaret to enter the house. The door opened and John heard the rustling of Margaret's skirts and Mr. Hale say, "Where have you been, my dear? Mr. Thornton has been waiting on you."

"Mr. Thornton?" Her voice sounded breathless. Her steps increased and suddenly, she was in the room with them, a beautiful, brilliant smile on her face— just for him. "Hello!" she said, still undoing her hat and gloves. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Yes," he admitted with a curt nod. "I have."

That was not a gentlemanly or proper answer, but it was the truth. He had been waiting on her for hours.

Her mouth made a perfect circle. "I did not know you were coming until later this evening to read with father," she stated, her smile faltering, "or I would have arrived sooner."

She set her hat and gloves on the sofa where John had been sitting and gave him her full attention. She did not look particularly contrite, rather she looked as if she were ready for a fight. This was a different Margaret.

"You did not come to the mill house for lunch today." It had made him worried. She had been coming nearly every day to eat lunch with his family. The few days she missed she sent word ahead of time that she would not be in attendance. She had business to attend to with her father those days as they got the school up and running for the new term.

"No." She moved forward, poured herself a cup of tea and then took a seat in the exact spot he had vacated.

"And, where exactly were you?"

Her eyes widened and then a frown puckered her face. He remained at the fireplace, feeling like a magistrate investigating a crime, interrogating a criminal. Mr. Hale slipped back in the room and took another lemon biscuit.

"If you two will excuse me, I will be reading in my room. Perhaps even sneaking in a short nap before our readings tonight, John." Mr. Hale winked to John before leaving the room and closing the door with a resounding thud.

"Do you need me to repeat my question?" John's voice was harsh. He did not wish to be angry with her, but he was.

"No. I have a fine mind, and exceptional hearing, John," she answered before taking a bite of her biscuit.

When she licked her lips John wanted to move in close and kissed the crumbs away. How easily she distracted him from his purpose!

"Well?"

She sighed. "Since you are not my father, brother, employer or husband, why must I account to you of time?"

He blew out a breath that sounded like a whistle. That hurt, but she was right, of course. He had made no commitment to her yet, why must she be accountable to him?

"I was simply concerned, my dear, when you failed to come to the house or send a message," John told her in a gentler voice.

He also wanted to know who she was with, where she was, and _if_ she had traveled unaccompanied into the Princeton District yet again. But, knowing that would simply agitate her further, he did not plunder through those questions just yet. It was, perhaps, better that he did not know.

She waited quite some time before answering him, increasing his displeasure.

"I lost track of time," she finally admitted. "After Mrs. Willwright and I completed our time at the foundling home, we picked up her dress for the Mill Master's Dinner from her dressmaker and then she invited me to share tea at a shop called The Empire Room on New Street. Do you know it?"

"Yes, I know the place."

It did not matter where she had been. It mattered that she was not where he expected her to be; home helping her father. It mattered that her maid did not know where Margaret was, could only tell him that she had been gone since eight o'clock that morning and had not been heard from since.

"Why are you so cross? What in the world have I done?" she asked.

"I did not know where you were, and I did not like that," he admitted quietly.

Again, there was a long pause before she responded.

"You do many things without my knowledge," she said. "For example, I did not know about _your_ trip into Manchester last week. Nor did I know where you went _yesterday_ at lunch time when I _was_ at your home." She shrugged. "I have not complained. I have accepted your privacy to conduct your affairs. Your time is your time, and I would not wish to control your movements."

"It is different, can you not see that?" he demanded, his voice an angry growl.

"No, I suppose I do not see a difference," Margaret answered, the volume of her voice increasing in response to his. "If I must be accountable to you, so too must you be accountable to me! Or the opposite, I suppose?"

"And what precisely does that mean?"

He watched her swallow. "I thought perhaps you had become too busy to have me in your life? You have been rather… distant… and cool during the times we have recently spent together. I was beginning to wonder if you were done with me."

"Done with you!" Had he behaved like that? Worse yet, how had he not noticed how his behavior was hurting her? "I am in no way intentionally pushing you away. I have much on my mind just now, Margaret."

"Clearly," she spat, turning away from him and walking to the window. "Perhaps too much to share with me or too much to even have me around?"

"Let us not argue," he said quietly. "What you say is certainly not true. You are an important part of my life. Today, I came early just so I could walk out with you this afternoon. It was too fine of a day to be inside, and I wanted to be with you."

John walked to where she stood, rested his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. He kissed her cheek softly and then drew her against his chest in a tight hug.

"I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing her temple. "Do not ever doubt these feelings I have for you."

"But, how can I not?" The sound was mumbled against his chest. "We go many days without spending any time together, despite the stoppage at the mill. How will it be when things are up and running again? How will we ever see one another?"

She was crying, he realized belatedly. He pulled away only a bit so he could see her face, which he cupped with his hands and tilted upwards toward him. He leaned forward and kissed the tears that dripped from her eyes.

"I am sorry to have injured you, my love," he whispered. "I had no idea you were hurting."

She nodded and sniffed.

"It will not always be like this," he said. Her eyes remained fixed on his. "There is so much uncertainty just now. I am desperately worried for the mill, and Milton as a whole. I did not realize you were feeling neglected and for that I am disgusted with myself. You should never feel slighted in favor of my business or other interests. You, my darling Margaret, are my world. The mill pays my debts, but you… well, you fill my heart."

He kissed her softly, with only the intention of comfort, and then pulled her back into his arms.

"Forgive me?" he asked, resting his cheek on top of her head.

He felt her nod.

"Will you be patient with me?" he asked. "Remember I have never had a lover."

"Nor have I!" She pulled back, a stunned look upon her face.

"I did not mean to suggest otherwise." He sighed. They were both prickly. "All I mean to say is that this courting is still new, and I am learning as we go. Can you accept that?"

He caressed the side of her cheek, relived when she smiled.

"Of course." She reached up and stroked his jaw with her thumb. "I can accept anything as long as you love me, and wish me to be in your life."

"I do love you, quite… ardently." The kiss he gave her then was more intense. "You will tell me in the future when I fail again?" he teased, kissing her nose.

She smiled wider. "Yes. That is _if_ you fail again." She nodded. "Yes, I will."

"Will you walk out with me?" He ducked his head to see out the window, below the curtains. "The light is still adequate."

She surprised him by kissing the corner of his mouth and then taking his hand and silently leading him like a docile lamb from the room and into the foyer. He opted to avoid wearing his hat and gloves which remained resting on the hallway table. They would only be on the school grounds and there was hardly a need to be so formal.

"Shall we?" she asked, her hand already on the knob of the entry door.

Dixon suddenly appeared at the other end of the hallway. "Miss Margaret will Mr. Thornton be staying for supper?"

Margaret chuckled. "Dixon, the man is standing right here. You have my permission to address him specifically."

"He is a guest, Miss."

"Yes, Dixon, I will be staying for supper," he told the stout maid. "And, I am quite looking forward to it."

Margaret opened the front door. "We will not be long, Dixon," she called over her shoulder.

"There is a nice bench in the garden," Margaret began. "I've spent quite a few hours sitting there already, watching the boys play in the sun. I've been walking quite a bit today and I must tell you I am feeling it in my feet. If I were in Helstone, I would take off my shoes and run through the grassy area."

She looked up as he chuckled.

"Why not do that here and now?"

"It is hardly proper," she said, a small grin on her face.

"And you are always proper," he stated.

"Usually," she admitted.

She took a seat on the wooden bench and patted the space next to her. The bench was under an old willow tree, giving both shade and some privacy should anyone be poking their noses out the window. No one was outside. It was dinnertime for the boys, and then they would have their play time before studies and sleep. She had become quite accustomed to the evening schedule.

She watched him stretch out his long legs in front of himself and close his eyes on a sigh. He looked far more relaxed now than he had when she first arrived home. There was no doubt he was angry with her then, but it was foolish. As she had said, he really had no say about her activities. Perhaps taking a stand had done something to jar his awareness that he really had no say in her activities.

"So tell me, my love," he took her hand and kissed it before resting their joined hands on his thigh. "Other than fetching Mrs. Willwright's dress, what else did you do today?"

She wondered if he was just making conversation or if he was nosing to see just how she spent her day. She decided to accept his question at face value, a harmless question to lead to a nice discussion.

"I spent some time at the foundling house as I do each Tuesday now."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean? Hmm?" She did not care for his tone again.

"Nothing, really. I am glad you found a way to help people in Milton. It is not the best sort of folks you will encounter in such a place, though." His eyes opened and he looked her way. "That area of town is rather dangerous as well."

"Mrs. Willwright is not the right sort of people?" The woman was as fine as Edith or any other person of similar society in London.

"Perhaps she is the exception. I do like her husband, Thomas." He closed his eyes again. "I would like you to associate with a better class of women. Mrs. Willwright could perhaps introduce you to other women of her set?"

Now he sounded like a horrible snob.

"She is new to Milton, too, but yes, I would like to meet more women like her."

Not just women of her set, as John suggested, but all types of people. Margaret wanted to expand her acquaintance to the same number of friends she had in London. The more people she knew, the more she could be involved in. With John at the mill all day the last thing Margaret wanted was to be stuck in the mill house with his mother day in and day out!

 _If they married._

"You surely were not at the orphan home the whole of the day, were you?" he asked.

"Does that seem too long?" she asked innocently.

"Yes. No." He frowned. "I suppose I do not know how long is too long to volunteer your time."

Lord he was irritable today. Little Lily would call him _owly_ , just like her baby brother.

"I was not at the foundling home the whole of the day, John. I started my day in the Princeton District, visiting Bessie Higgins."

"Ah-ha! Now we come to it!" He sat up straight and she prepared herself for him to begin yelling again. "I told you that it was not safe to be there, and yet you persist in your activities!"

"Bessie is my friend, John." She glanced at him quickly and then down at her folded hands in her lap. "She may not be as fine as my cousin Edith or your sister Fanny, but she is a good soul, a girl of my own age who might well die any day from the cotton fluff in her lungs. I visit with her about the bible and try to comfort her as she faces the end of life. I feel I give her comfort and return I feel pleasure helping her."

"And when she dies, will you find another person to tend to in Princeton?"

She did not care for the tone of his voice; not one bit!

"What else do I have to do with my time, John? I can only sew and clean so much! And no, I do not plan to find anyone else to help in Princeton. Bessie is so very special to me." She stood and began to pace in front of him, trying to put into words how much she had come to mean to Margaret. "You remember that Bessie came to Mr. Bell's home to apologize for her foolish brother after the fight you had? She was so humble, so… _miserable_ over what he had done to me… and to you." She stopped walking in front of him. "Had she not done that, made the attempt to atone for her brother's behavior, I never would have met her. As you know, I was not accustomed to being near such folk. Even the poorest in Helstone are far better off than those living in the back-to-back houses in Princeton."

From his dour expression she knew John did not understand her need to help the other woman.

"And what is her opinion of the strike?" he asked quietly. "Did you discuss it with her?"

"Not with her, no. Her father said…"

"Her father was there?" he stormed. "With you?"

"Not the whole time, no. He came just as I was leaving." She decided it would not be good to share with him that Nicholas was quite drunk. "He is terribly angry about the strike. He blames the masters, of course."

"Damn fool," John cursed.

"I suggested that he meet with you," she said quickly.

"What?"

She cringed at his yell.

"He has grievances and you, too, are angry," she argued. "Why not meet with him, man to man and determine where change can happen? A real change, so you do not continue to face a strike every year."

"Man to man, eh? He is no man, Margaret. He is an _animal_. Too bloody stupid to realize he has ruined his life and those of others by his foolish actions."

 _Owly and loud._ She did not like an angry John, but she did not fear him.

"Perhaps you can come with me Thursday morning." She remained calm, despite the angry man sitting in front of her. "You can listen to Mr. Higgins talk and perhaps with enough patience, come to understand their needs."

" _Their_ needs? _Their_ needs?" The last came out as a scream, making Margaret flinch.

"John, their needs are not being met. They do not have food. They live in poor houses with dirty water and no help with their health."

"I was trying to help with the housing…" he said on a sigh.

"Yes, I know!" she interrupted him and reached forward to squeeze his hand. "But do the _union men_ know? Do they understand that you are trying to improve their lots?"

"They do not care," he snarled.

"John, perhaps they _do_ care." She sat very close to him and caressed the side of his face with her hand. She continued quietly. "They do not know what _you_ think. Possibly you do not understand what they think. Can you not visit with Mr. Higgins for just a bit? Half-an-hour? Thursday? Other than your pride, what do you have to lose?" Her hand slipped to rest on his shoulder.

"My pride!" he scoffed. "If I thought one conversation would make a difference I would damn my pride, but I do not believe a discussion with Higgins or any other of the union fools would change anything."

"But you do _not_ know," she insisted. "You will _only_ know if you come along with me."

He sighed. "I take it you are going back even if I say no?"

"I am." She nodded. "I told Bessie I would be with her until the end, and I do not break my word."

He paused and she wondered if she was maybe getting through to him.

"I do not believe I can go with you," he said. "The Mill Master Dinner is that evening. My mother…"

"Will surely have it all under control," she interrupted. "Do not create excuses. If you do not feel strong enough for such an interaction with Mr. Higgins, just admit it."

He crossed his arms against his chest and tipped up his chin in an arrogant pose. She had seen that before, mostly when he was irritated with his sister and bit his tongue instead of lashed out at her.

"I will consider it," he said. He still would not look at her. "I will not lie and tell you I will be glad to go."

"But you will consider it?"

"Only because I do not want you going into that district without escort, I shall consider it."

"Thank you." She nodded. Maybe a small chink in his armor?

Just then, Mr. Hale called to them from the doorway of the home to come and eat.

"We will not speak of this in front of your father," he stated flatly. "We _will_ talk about this again, though."

"I do not tell my father everything, John." She winked at him, and stood. She hoped he realized she was speaking of the kisses they had shared.

She walked toward the house and looked behind to see if he was coming. Shocking, but pleasing, he seemed to be watching her bottom. She snorted, but hoped John enjoyed the view. It might be just enough to shake him from his nasty mood, and enjoy his lesson with her father. For, if he did not, it would turn into a very long, tense evening. He took the hand she held out to him and they finished the short walk to the house, hand-in-hand, at peace… for the moment.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Miss Margaret, your carriage is pulling up." Dixon called from the front of the house, stopping Margaret in mid-pace, in her small upstairs bed chamber at the boy's school.

Margaret had been waiting in anticipation for today. Since parting with John Tuesday evening following his study session with her father, she wondered if he would come for her appointment with the Higgins family. When she had asked, before he left two days ago, John had repeated to her his initial answer- that he would _consider_ accompanying her to the Higgins home for her normal visit. He mentioned again, before leaving Tuesday, that today was the day of the Mill Master's Dinner, and Margaret had quickly reminded him that his mother would have all well in hand, effectively removing any objections he had for avoiding the Higgins' home. She knew that a visit to the Princeton District would be uncomfortable to him for many reasons, but in her heart she had hoped he would overcome his concerns and go with her simply because she wanted him to.

Yesterday, Wednesday, they had not seen each other. She knew last night was a rather pivotal mill master's meeting. John had told her the masters would be devising a strategy to put an end to the strike and get back up and running as soon as possible. He hinted that it might involve using force. He also said he had something up his sleeve as an alternative plan should his employees refuse to come back to work. It worried her, but she had great faith that he knew what he was doing and all would be well… eventually.

It was now eight in the morning, the time she'd told John she would depart; first for the Higgins home, and then for her time at the foundling home. She had prayed he would attend both places with her, so he could have a better understanding of the life she was creating for herself in Milton. As he was _never_ late, she could only assume he had decided not to come. Without the mill running, she could see no legitimate reason for his avoidance, except that he did not support her interests. That idea hurt her heart.

"Miss Margaret!" Dixon called again, a bit more insistent this time.

"I am coming!" Margaret called back, equally annoyed.

She quickly gathered her bag and the books she was planning to share with Bessie. Bessie had been so fixated on the Kingdom of Heaven, Margaret had asked her father for some prayer books to help the girl prepare for her day when she met Jesus. Margaret sensed the day was near… too near.

"Coming, coming, coming," Margaret mumbled as she descended the staircase.

Focused solely on stowing the books in her bag, she missed the bottom step, and tripped on the hem of her skirt, hurdling her forward… right into the arms of her beloved.

"John!" His name whooshed from her lungs as he caught her, saving her body from bruises.

"Careful, my darling girl." He pulled her close. "Had I not been right where I was, you would have hurt yourself." He kissed her temple. "Good morning."

She clung to him, so happy he had decided to go with her today. "Thank you," she whispered in his chest.

"This is quite my pleasure, I assure you." He squeezed her tightly and then stepped back just enough so he could see her face. He tipped up her chin and kissed her gently on the mouth. "I love you. I realize it has been rather difficult… _I_ have been rather difficult lately, but never doubt my love."

She stepped up on her tip-toes and kissed him softly on his full, rosy lips. "I have patience, and know things are difficult," she whispered. "I hope all will sort out quickly for you."

He squeezed her shoulders. "For _us_."

"For us," she repeated, smiling. _He had come!_

"Now… one more kiss, and if you are ready we shall be off?"

He bent his head, and she expected a quick peck, but he surprised her with a long, lingering kiss. It left little doubt his words were true. He did love her, and he was here to accompany her and show her how important she was to him.

He pulled back and caressed the side of her face with the back of his knuckles. "Ready?"

"I am," she nodded. A basket of goods was sitting on the table where John usually set his hat and gloves when he came for his lessons. She glanced inside to be certain Dixon had packed just what she asked for, and then turned her attention back to John. "Thank you for coming along today."

"We will talk more when we are alone in the carriage." With raised brows, he looked pointedly down the hall, toward the kitchen. He then stepped aside, allowing her to lead him from the house.

John closed the front door behind them. His driver was standing next to the cab, waiting for them with the door already open. He helped Margaret inside and then stepped aside as John boarded. John sat across from her, and started speaking almost as soon as the door was closed.

"I missed you yesterday," he said. "When I arrived home Tuesday, I felt cold." He glanced down at his hands as if he was uncomfortable sharing his feelings. "You and your father and the home you have designed for the two of you is so welcoming, full of comfort and warmth. The mill house is cold and dreary, almost depressing in its pristine emptiness."

"I used only my mother's treasured items to decorate," Margaret said. "It seems to give my father comfort to have her things nearby."

She turned to look out the window, away from John's wise eyes. In truth it was quite difficult for Margaret to see the things created by her mother's hand. Margaret spent much of her time in her own room where there was no reminders of Helstone, except for the furniture itself. The home was indeed comfortable, made so for her father's contentment, but it made her sad.

Suddenly, as the carriage paused at an intersection of roads, John moved to join her on her bench, hunched over to accommodate his height. He took her hand and kissed it before placing it on his thigh.

"What did I say to distress you?" he whispered.

She chuckled and shook her head at her foolishness. "My sadness at losing my mother comes at the oddest times." She sniffed.

"Yes, I can understand. There are times when I think of my father and wonder how life could _have_ been." He continued, studying their twined fingers. "I thought long and hard Tuesday night after leaving your home about visiting Princeton with you." He met her eyes. "Before we go to see the Higgins, I asked my driver to take us further out of town into the Brooklane District."

Her brows furrowed, trying to recall where she may have heard that name. "Why?" she asked quietly.

"I will tell you when we get there," he answered.

"Alright." Patience was not one of her great virtues, however she had promised she would

"I must tell you… I have come to meet with Higgins only because you asked me to. I do not want to meet with him." He shook his head and looked away from her, out the window. "I do not want to see the home they live in, but for you, my darling Margaret, I will."

Her heart swelled. "Thank you."

She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder as the carriage traveled through streets she had never seen before. He turned his head back toward her and shifted to rest his cheek against her hair, holding her tightly against his side.

"I will not always be able to do as you ask, mind, but today I can."

She nodded. "I understand."

"And then, after the conference at the Higgins home, you and I shall go to the foundling home and I will meet the little girl who loves to twirl."

Margaret chuckled. " _Lily_ is her name." She had spoken of her at great length during their evening together Tuesday.

"Yes. Lily." He rubbed his cheek against her head. "And then we shall part company so we may prepare for the Mill Master's Dinner this evening."

"I confess I am a bit nervous, John." She had not told him of these worries yet. "I have not met all your friends. What if the wives do not like me? What if I say or do something wrong?"

He chuckled and hugged her quickly. "You will shine like the diamond you are, Margaret. Please do not worry." He pulled back so she could see his face. "You will fit in just fine and… if you do not rub along with some of the women, that will be _their_ loss, not yours."

"So you say. But, what if I embarrass you?" That was her great worry.

"How could you do that?" His look was incredulous.

"Fanny mentioned the wives of the masters would not approve of my trips into Princeton. She said I should associate only with certain people. Much like you said the other day."

"I am so very proud of you, my love. You have forged a friendship with people less fortunate and while at first I was not certain how I felt about you associating with the Higgins family, I see no real harm in being Bessie's friend. As long as you do not support the strike, through deeds and actions, what can they say about you? How can I fault your good intentions?"

"Fanny said it will not matter to the women, that if they hear I am friends with people such as Bessie they with shun me." The girl was such a snob.

"Mrs. Willwright included?"

Margaret had talked at great lengths about her friend Gert. It must be clear to John how close they were becoming.

"Why no!" She shook her head. "In fact, she has been quite supportive of my visits, both to Bessie and the foundling home."

"See?" He smiled in reassurance. "Not everyone is so bigoted that they will think ill of you for your good work."

"I certainly hope not." She pulled away and met his gaze. "I've been considering the question you asked of me Tuesday."

His brows furrowed. "Which one?" They had discussed so much, it was no real wonder he was uncertain which specific question.

"Oh! Well… whether I will continue to visit the Princeton district after… well, after Bessie is gone."

"Ah… _that_ question." His voice softened. "And what have you concluded?"

"Since I know you are not in favor of it, I have decided that I will not. I am hopeful that _someone,"_ she elbowed his side gently, "might give Mary, her younger sister, employment so I might see her in the future."

"I am certain _someone_ could arrange that. If this bloody strike comes to an end." He wrapped his hand around her shoulder and drew her back up against his side. "You are only stopping visits because of me?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Your opinion and feelings mean everything to me, John. I would never do anything deliberately against your wishes."

"You were correct on Tuesday, of course, when you said I have no control over you. However, I do very much appreciate your consideration of my feelings in this matter. Ah, here we are."

As the carriage crept to a halt, Margaret peeked beyond John's shoulder, out the window. Her eyes widened at the sight. A young woman, not three feet away, was chopping heads off chickens; the blood spattering on the dirty, filthy apron covering her worn dress, riddled with holes. Margaret looked passed the woman, at the dilapidated houses lined in a row. Although they were the same design as those in Princeton they were far older. The door of the closest place hung off the hinges at an odd angle, leading Margaret to think it might not shut fully. The next place had a hole in the roof, haphazardly patched with mismatched wood pieces.

If Princeton was bad, Brooklane was hell.

"Why are we here?" she whispered.

He shifted in his seat, giving her a better view. "The house on the corner, there…" He pointed with his long, slender finger to a brown and gray building. "is where my sister, mother and I were forced to live after my father died. Brooklane was the cheapest area, you see, and as a draper's assistant, with my father's debt to repay, I could not do much better. Fanny was tiny," he shrugged, "only three when we moved here. Mother had to see to her care. I worked odd jobs other than the draper's. Mr. Bell owned the boy's school even back then and although he did not help monetarily, he did find opportunities for me to work and earn money to support the three of us." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, holding back his emotions.

"When I was seventeen," John continued, "Mr. Bell encouraged the former owner of Marlborough Mills to take me on as an apprentice. I learned quickly, could understand how the machinery worked, and when something needed fixed, I often found the problem very quickly." He looked away from the house, back at her. "We lived in this horrible place for five years, until I became the mill's overseer. Then, my savings quickly grew and when the owner of the mill wanted to retire, I decided it was time to try my hand at being a master. With Mr. Bell's help, and a small loan from Mr. Latimer, I was able to buy into the mill. By twenty-five, I was the sole owner of everything except the buildings. When I turned thirty, I added the two weaving sheds." He sighed. "I have so many more ideas for the mill and the whole of Milton, but with the strike, I feel more like the young man growing up here, in this slum, than a Master of the mill."

She remained quiet, absorbing all he said.

"The roof leaked, and we had room only for a single bed, which Mother and Fanny shared. I slept in my father's chair; one of the few pieces of furniture I was able to keep after we sold all our belongings to satisfy the creditors. I won't describe the food we ate, or the clothes we wore."

"Your only concern was survival," Margaret said softly, sadly. She tightened her hold on his hand. "It is incredible how far you have risen, John."

He tipped his head up with pride. He had every right, she realized yet again, to be proud of his ascension. She admitted that his mother had that right, as well, to tout his amazing accomplishments.

"At the Exhibition, when we toured Prince Albert's models I told you I lived in something similar. I had never intended to show you the actual hovel, thinking you would shrink from me, knowing just how low of a society my family kept."

"I would not!" she sputtered. "You are who you are today because of the struggles. But, why did you choose today?"

"Because it is time you knew all of me." His look was intense. "I know now that you accept me, regardless of my past. In London, how could I know? I _have_ risen, through hard work and determination, but many still look at me as the boy that lived here. Some of the people you fear will not accept you at the dinner tonight are the same ones that look down their noses at me, knowing I did not come from means as they did."

"That is foolish." She wanted to stand up to those who judged him and… punch them or something.

He chuckled. "Is that not what Mrs. Shaw has already done? What would she do if she were in this carriage right now?"

"Faint." Margaret laughed.

"Yes, I believe she might." He laughed, too. "But you, my love, have not."

"I must confess this is very… difficult… to see such poverty and struggles."

Just that moment, a young boy came up to the carriage and rapped on the door asking for coins. John shook his head, and the boy walked away, glum.

"If I gave him some, everyone and their dog would show up suddenly and we would be stuck here," John explained.

"I see."

"No, I can tell you do not." He leaned forward and kissed her quickly. "Your heart is soft and your wish to help is commendable. But it is up to the individual to drag themselves out of poverty. When I was young, like that boy, I was so angry with Mr. Bell for not just handing me money. In retrospect, had he given me the handouts, I would not have pushed myself so hard, learned all that I did."

"Not everyone is as strong as you," she argued gently, taking his hand again. "Not everyone has a mother such as you."

"Not everyone can be a master, or a barrister or a prime minister, Margaret. But truly, the only thing standing in their way is their belief and their drive to improve. If we give handouts to people, even well-meaning, then we are preventing them from pushing themselves harder."

"But the children…"

"Their parents can walk back into Marlborough Mills and start the looms anytime they wish. I have not locked them out. The strike is _their_ choice." He shrugged. "I promote people all the time. Robbie Higgins was to be my next overseer, but he chose to sabotage his prospects."

"Yes, that was good of you. Bessie was so proud of him." Margaret frowned. "No one knows where he is now."

"I am sorry for that." His face was earnest. "He was a fine lad. I saw much potential." He paused. "Do you wish to walk through here? See the place I lived?"

"No, but if you do—"

"No, I do not." He shook his head. "In fact, this is the very first time I have returned since we moved out."

"Thank you for including me."

He tipped up her chin and met her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat every time he looked at her with such intensity. "Do you still want to be with me, then, Margaret Hale? Now, knowing my true roots?"

"Of course I do." She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Silly man." She tsked with her tongue and sat back.

"The home my father owned, where I was raised until we moved here, was torn down and a larger home built in its place. It sat high on a hill about twenty minutes from town. It was finer than the mill house." His look was faraway, as if he was recalling his childhood, but not fondly.

"You will always live at the mill?" She had never dared asked before now, but he seemed completely open to her at the moment.

"I hope so." He turned to study her. "It's convenient for me to be in walking distance to my office. Certain times of the month, trading days lead to very late nights." He shrugged. "I have not considered living elsewhere since becoming master."

She wondered, idly, where their future children might play… if they had children… if he every proposed marriage. There were none of the green spaces she had enjoyed as a child, during her summers in Helstone, no brooks to wade in or trees to fall asleep under or climb.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"There are no trees here, or at the mill house grounds." She frowned. There was not a single one! "That boy," she pointed to the boy who earlier begged for coins, who now played tag with a friend, "has no trees to climb."

"You're thinking of Helstone?"

"I am." She nodded. Suddenly she smiled at the memories. "In London, I would not have dared climb a tree. Aunt Shaw would have been appalled! A skinned knee would have resulted in many days at the piano in punishment. But in Helstone, with my…" Her heart dropped. _Oh goodness, she had to tell him about Frederick!_

"Yes? In Helstone?" he prodded.

She swallowed, her eyes quickly welling up with tears, she pulled out a handkerchief from her bag.

"My love! What is wrong?" He tapped the top of the carriage to get them moving away.

If only it was the location making her so upset!

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Oh, you have been so honest with me, I…" She blew out a breath. "I have a brother, John." She said it quickly and then bent over and covered her face with her hands.

He helped her sit upright. "You have a brother? Why is that so distressing to you?" He held her close, rubbed her back, calming her. "Tell me, dearest one."

"Papa said I could not tell you about Frederick," she moaned.

"Whyever not?"

"Oh, John! It's so horrible." She covered her face again in shame. "Fred is a criminal, a fugitive from the law. As you are a magistrate, we thought… I thought…"

He pulled her hands away again. "That I would judge you badly? That I would arrest you?"

She nodded mutely, sadly, eyes-wide.

He shook his head and pulled her tightly against his side as they bounced through the poor streets of Brooklane. He kissed her temple and sighed. "Tell me what he did."

She sighed pleased by his calm, rational reaction. Maybe it would not change anything?

"I don't think I know the whole of it. My parents were rather imprecise on the details, but from what I have been able to put together Frederick was charged with mutiny."

"He was on a ship?"

When she nodded, her head bumped his chin. "I'm sorry."

"Go on, love," he whispered.

It felt as if they were cocooned in a secret box where there was nothing or no one beyond the walls of the carriage. His arms comforted her, as if she were the most precious gift. She had told no one of Frederick. Her family and Dixon knew the story, and the Lennoxes, but no one else.

"Fred left Helstone for the Royal Navy soon after he turned eighteen. I was only twelve, already spending most of my time in London with Aunt Shaw and Edith. Commodore Shaw had died a few years earlier, but he managed to get Frederick enlisted as a midshipman before he passed away. Mama was devastated when Fred left Helstone." Margaret was home then, had witnessed the sad scene, and even cried herself to sleep that night. "Mama loved him so, so much! When she was very, very ill truly at the end of her life, I considered writing him to come home but Papa said not to."

That had been horrible, watching her mother fade away, hearing her beg for her son while Margaret sat holding her hand, virtually ignored. That was always how it was, though. Mama loved Fred the best and did little to disguise her feelings.

"Do you know the story of the mutiny?" he asked gently.

She pulled back from his shoulder, meeting his eyes, she shook her head. "All I know is what Fred wrote to us when he was safely away. His letter said the ship's captain went insane and began to shackle some of the sailors. Fred admitted he started the mutiny because he knew the captain's actions were not right. The captain threatened to have them all charged with treason, which as you likely know is a death sentence. Sometime before they landed at Portsmouth, he jumped off the ship. Papa says if he is ever found, he will be killed." She swallowed back the lump in her throat. "He is no longer mentioned in our family, which is why you have not heard of him before now."

"Where is he now?"

She was relieved John was not upset. She had worried for so long that Fred's story would push him away from her. A magistrate would not wish to associate with the sister of a fugitive… would he?

"I should not tell you, John. I do not wish to drag you into this ugliness, but I _had_ to tell you about him. At present, he is listed with the Navy as _missing_."

"But, you are in contact with him?" His face suddenly turned stern and her stomach fell. "That's dangerous for you, my love. If the authorities are watching for him, they will be tracking your mail."

"It happened almost eight years ago. I do not believe they are actively watching for him, surely authorities have more pressing concerns?" After he nodded, she continued. "Years ago the constable did come to the Helstone vicarage to visit my parents, and Papa thought they were watching for Frederick to come home." She was glad he had not. "Aunt Shaw was also visited, especially after I arrived in London." She sighed. "I believe there is still a bounty on his head, and that does scare me. What lengths would someone go to get him?"

He straightened in his seat and looked away. She knew that irritated look, and prepared herself for what was to come from his mouth.

"If you do not trust me enough, Margaret," his voice was harsh, "you need not tell me exactly where he is, but I wish to know that you and your father are safe. Is he nearby?"

"Oh, my. I've offended you." She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and tugged gently until he met her gaze. "It is not that I do not trust you! I do. Absolutely! Implicitly! I simply do not wish to put you into a position where you are forced to say where he is living, and have you become involved in the mess."

"Is he nearby?" he repeated, still firm.

"No." She shook her head. "He is on the continent, working for a shipping company."

She let go of his frockcoat. "He changed his name, tells us he now has long hair and a beard." She tipped up her lips in a rueful grin. "I likely would no longer recognize him."

"How do you get word from him?" he asked.

She cringed, but answered honestly, staring at her lap. "The letters go to Henry Lennox's office and he forwards them to Papa."

"Lennox," John growled, withdrawing from her. "I suppose that is how Lennox keeps you in his grasp."

Margaret knew John did not like Henry, knew that he was jealous of the past he and Margaret shared. "Henry has been good to me," she answered quietly.

"Did he ask you to marry him?" It came from John's mouth as a bark.

She flushed, taken aback at the fierceness of John's voice and bluntness of the question. The memory of Henry's impromptu proposal was embarrassing. She had been caught completely off-guard, had no inkling the man was in love with her. He had not acted toward her as John did, had never kissed her or held her hand, but suddenly Henry had expressed his everlasting love and asked for her hand.

"Yes." She could not look at John.

"Why did you refuse him?"

"I did not love him." She glanced up. His face was quite close, but still very unyielding. "Not as I love you." She reached up and cupped his cheek, hoping to ease his frown. "He is the captain's brother, a friend of the family, and nothing more."

The carriage came to an abrupt halt. Margaret looked away from John, out the window, surprised they already were at the edge of Princeton. John's driver parked in the same spot Mr. Bell's driver parked for her each time she visited Bessie.

He took her hand and kissed it. "Thank you for telling me about Frederick. We won't speak of him again unless you wish to. I will not tell Mother or Fanny or anyone. Unless your father brings him up, I will not mention that I know."

She leaned forward and hugged him tightly. "Thank you."

"I hope you will always trust me with your concerns."

She nodded, too caught up by the emotion of the moment to speak. They had shared such intimate secrets that day, and she knew she had never felt so connected to another person in her whole life, not even Edith.

"Come," he said with a quick kiss on her nose, "let us go see your friend."

John popped open the door of the carriage and then after helping her down, placed his tall hat back on his head. He told the driver to stay and wait for them.

"Where to?" he asked her.

"They put up behind the Golden Dragon," she said. "Just over that way." She pointed to the top of a very high staircase.

"Lead the way, my lady." He threaded her hand through his arm, and soon they were headed toward Bessie's home.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty- Five

The Higgins' hovel to which she led him was just as John expected it to be: rundown, dirty, smelly and depressing. Margaret gave him a reassuring grin before knocking, but even her beautiful face was not enough to strengthen his resolve. A young girl, with an odd look about her answered the door.

"Hello Mary," Margaret said kindly. "This is Mr. Thornton, Mary. He and I have come to see Bessie and your father."

The girl looked fearful of him, but then sort of grunted and stepped aside to allow them entry. Margaret handed the basket of food to Mary, along with two small prayer books. Mary took them, and scurried away like a fearful rabbit, looking over her shoulder to make certain John was not looking at her or following.

The inside of the home was much more pleasant than the outside; clean, at least, with a pleasant smell of freshly baked bread. He looked around the single, open room for Higgins but it was clear he was not home. _Coward_. John had come for Margaret, he reminded himself, not to end the strike. That, he would solve with the onslaught of fresh labor from the northwest.

Margaret suddenly grabbed his hand, entwined her small fingers with his, and led him toward the partly curtained bed opposite the kitchen. Again, she gave him an encouraging smile to soldier on, but this was uncomfortable. He could deal with men of industry and government without batting an eye, but facing this sick woman, at the end of her life was something terribly unnerving.

"Bessie." To wake the girl up, Margaret whispered softly in the waif's ear while rubbing her slight shoulder. Margaret had not exaggerated the girl's deteriorated condition.

A smile curved on the girl's lips and she slowly opened her eyes. "Oh Miss! I just had me the most special dream yet." Her face lit up with a brilliant smile. "I saw it, Miss Margaret. I saw the Kingdom of Heaven!"

Margaret sat on the bed and glanced at him, shielded by the curtain, before taking Bessie's frail hand. "Tell me?"

"Oh!" The girl rolled her big brown eyes. "I can hardly describe the beauty I seen. Flowers, just like the ones you bring me, with smells I never smelt before! And the sun. Oh, Margaret the sun were shining warm on me face."

"It sounds beautiful," Margaret whispered, almost reverently.

"Music, too. Angels singing hymns from the Lord. I am ready to go there for eternity. When He comes to get me, I will be ready."

"Oh Bessie." Margaret blinked her tears away. "I will miss you so very much. You were my first friend when I came to Milton, but I will be happy knowing you are with the Lord, looking down on us from Paradise."

"Aye, Miss. You know I will." Bessie closed her eyes and sighed.

"Bessie, I brought Mr. Thornton with me today." Margaret reached for him again, and he quickly took her hand to join the women.

Suddenly Bessie's eyes popped open again. John stepped further around the curtain so Bessie could see him. He stood behind Margaret's back and placed his hands on her narrow shoulders. She leaned against him for support, making him feel an intricate part of the conversation.

"Hello, Miss Higgins."

"Thank you fer coming, Mr. Thornton. Me Da said you weren't but I knew you would. Fer Miss Margaret…" She gave Margaret a knowing grin. "I knew you would."

He squeezed Margaret's shoulders. "Where is your father?" He wanted to get the confrontation over with, hoped with his daughter so ill, Higgins would be less like a firebrand and more like a logical union leader.

"At the Dragon, I reckon." Bessie sighed and closed her eyes again. "This strike ain't doing 'im no good."

Margaret glanced over her shoulder at him and then covered his hand with hers. Was she asking him to make things better or to say something comforting? She looked back at Bessie who remained calm, with her eyes closed.

"I had hoped your father and I could work for an understanding today, but if he's not here…" Not yet nine in the morning and he was already imbibing alcohol? Perhaps Higgins had not even made it home the night before?

"Bessie." Margaret gently nudged her. "For when you wake again later, I will leave some books for you to read to Mary."

"Books?" Bessie mumbled.

"Yes, my father gave me some that talk of the Kingdom of Heaven and your life to come with the Lord. Papa marked some passages for you."

"Thank you, Miss," Bessie said, although it was slurred with sleep. "You 'ave been good to me."

Margaret leaned forward and kissed Bessie on the cheek. "Sleep, my friend."

Margaret hugged her and then leaned back again against him. Her head fell back against his hip as he stood watching as Bessie drifted off. He had never felt this emotionally attached to another human being. Not his mother, certainly not his sister. He was sharing this with Margaret, literally absorbing her pain as they watched her dear friend fade away.

"We should go," Margaret whispered before turning to look up at him.

John simply nodded and moved backwards so she could stand.

They stood in silence for several minutes, watching Bessie sleep. Margaret turned back to look at him with a wan smile and then stepped back into the kitchen area where Mary awaited them.

"Good-bye, Mary," Margaret said quietly.

John felt like he needed to do something. He came to connect with Higgins and if he left without doing so, he would feel like he'd failed. He looked at Mary, and when she finally made eye contact with him, John said, "Miss Higgins if your father wants to meet with me, have him come to Marlborough Mills."

Margaret's eyes widened and she bit her lip. Had he said something wrong?

"Paper, Mary?" Margaret asked.

The girl shuffled to find some and returned to the table with paper and a pencil. Margaret scratched out something quickly and handed the note to Mary with a gentle smile.

"Give it to Da?"

Mary grunted, glanced warily at him and then quickly down at the floor. It seemed his smile was not enough to ease her concern about his presence in the home. He popped open the door and stepped aside for Margaret to pass. He noticed she looked back at Bessie again, still laying still as a stone in bed, and smiled again to Mary before preceding him out the door and into the busy courtyard.

"Mary has trouble remembering," she told him. "Oh my, look at all these people. "

It seemed word of their arrival had spread. Dozens of people were simply standing outside, gawking at them as they left the Higgins home. Margaret called hello to several people she must have met on her previous visits, but it was him they seemed to be most focused upon. They smiled at Margaret but to him they turned up their noses and looked away.

Anger rippled anew through his chest. These people had no idea what he did on a day to day basis to maintain the success Marlborough Mills and therefore, provide their livelihoods. They knew only that the union men told them, that Thornton was a mean despotic leader who would crush them rather than help them. Fools!

"Come along." He pulled Margaret tight against his side as they walked away from the Higgins place and toward the awaiting carriage.

His concern for their safety grew as he spied more and more faces colored by fury. He hoped they would not attack them, but it was hard to say. They looked as angry as he felt about the strike. He walked faster, almost pulling Margaret along to match his long strides. He only began to feel safe when he spotted his awaiting carriage. He refused to look over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. John's driver opened the carriage door and John hurried Margaret inside. He quickly told his man to head to the foundling home and hopped up behind her. Once the door was shut and they were moving, he did chance a look outside the window, surprised no one had followed.

"That was scary," Margaret said. "I have never had that experience in Princeton before. Even last week no one appeared so…hostile."

"It was because I was with you, I am certain," he said. "They would have no reason to be upset with you but due to your association with me."

He chose to sit across from her, rather than beside. It would do her reputation no good to have her spotted riding with him on the same bench, without chaperone. Not that it mattered a whit to him as he intended to marry her soon, but still he wished for her to remain unblemished in the eyes of the folks of Milton.

The foundling home was not but five minutes from Princeton. They rode in silence, each lost to their thoughts, staring out opposite windows. He could well understand, with her soft heart, how the poverty in Brooklane and Princeton affected her deeply. How touched he was that she wanted him to spend the day with her, to share her personal missions with him. Although he did not agree with everything she believed, he did understand her concern about the poverty and the children's plight.

He glanced over at Margaret, not at all surprised by the thrill of excitement which raced through his body. It happened every time he looked at her and realized she was _all his_. If everything worked to plan this evening, there would be two engagements announced, not just Fanny and Watson's

He had the whole proposal scheme planned in his mind, had practiced the request in front of his mirror for quite some time this morning. His mother was even a willing accomplice to the proposal. Should nothing get in the way, before the evening was through, they would be betrothed. He hoped she would not make him wait long to marry, despite the economic woes of Milton. He had faith the Irish would get things moving again, and knew if it happened quickly, he could afford a bride, especially one of such modest needs.

"I think Bessie will die soon," Margaret said, breaking the quiet, but still not looking his way.

As if hit by a wave of cold water, he was suddenly snapped from his day dream. Here he sat thinking about their future while Margaret, bless her, was deeply distressed over the end of her friend's life. _Idiot._

"She has been blessed by your friendship, Margaret," he said. "Blessed as I am, by your love and care."

She turned toward him. "I wish… I wish there were a cure for this lung disease. I wish someone could heal her." Her tears began to drip and she quickly swiped them away. "I wish all babies had enough food, and people did not have to work fourteen hour days." She sniffed and looked away again. "The world sometimes seems so very unfair."

He crawled across the carriage and sat next to her, pulling her into his arm, allowing her to weep if she needed to. Milton tongue wagers be damned. The woman he loved was pained, and he needed to comfort her.

"It is, my love," he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. Women didn't cry in his arms. In fact, he had never seen his mother so much as sniff in sadness. "It _is_ terribly unfair, and some seem to suffer so much greater than others."

She pulled from his arms just a bit, and dabbed her eyes with her hanky. "I'm sorry, I've wet your coat with my sobs." She tried to blot the spot dry.

"I do not wish to see you sad," he said. His fingertips caressed her smooth face. "Do not worry about my clothing." He kissed both eyes. "I will not tell you not to cry, and I will hold you when you must."

"I do so love you, John." She moved back into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder.

A few minutes passed in their journey and suddenly she sat up again. "Now we shall witness even more injustice."

He followed her line of vision out the window, and noticed the foundling home had come into view.

"You said the children are well cared for," he stated. He had heard otherwise from certain gossips in Milton, but he trusted Margaret's judgement over theirs.

"Yes, of course they are," she answered. "But they do not have mothers and fathers to care for them or to love them and cuddle them and to celebrate their lives. Their basic needs are fulfilled but little more."

He wanted to point out that sometimes children with both parents are not cared for, either. "Again, I must repeat that these children are blessed by you and your beautiful heart."

"I truly hope I am making a difference in peoples' lives," she said.

"You are. Mine especially." He leaned over and kissed her softly. "I am greatly blessed to have you in my life. I could not imagine what would have happened had we not connected in London. You," he tapped her nose, "were the last thing I expected to find in that town."

She smiled at him, and took his hand. "We are fortunate to have each other, John. But the troubles you had when you came to London still remain in Milton, and if anything, things are even worse."

He placed his forefinger against her lip. "Come now. We can do nothing else for Bessie at present, or the mill, but the children will be happy to see you, so let us go meet them with a smile."

"You are right."

"Actually… Perhaps I can help Bessie? Shall I ask Dr. Donaldson to go see her? Perhaps he will have something to ease her suffering?"

"Yes! I should have thought of that myself! That would be very kind of you," she said. "I thank you, and so will she."

"And then," he continued, trying to cheer her up, "maybe by tomorrow, the mill situation will be resolved also."

"Tomorrow?" That did seem to perk up her spirits. "What is happening tomorrow?"

"You'll have to trust me, love." He chuckled at her sudden burst of excitement. "I cannot say more than."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Alright."

He crawled from the carriage as soon as it stopped and helped her down.

"Just leave your hat and gloves in there." She hooked her thumb over the shoulder at the carriage. "There's really nowhere to set them where little fingers cannot get at them."

He tossed his things back in the carriage and walked behind Margaret as she climbed the stairs of the foundling home. He looked around, surprised that the street was almost deserted. It was lunch time, late-morning, surely people should be out and about seeing to their family's needs. No one was following the whistles now, unless their internal schedules were so used to following the bells and would emerge from their homes at noon.

She did not wait for anyone to open the door, but walked right inside. He followed her, surprised at the sudden intense noise level. Silence outside, sounds of screaming and chaos inside. He looked at Margaret and she giggled with a shrug.

"Steady, John. Be prepared." She pretended to be serious and then giggled, ruining it. They walked down a dark, narrow hallway toward the back of the building, stopping abruptly at a wooden door. "This is the director's office. Miss Bea." She pointed ahead of them. "That way is the dining room, but _we_ are going into the dayroom where the children older than three gather throughout the day to do their studies and play."

"That is where we are headed?" He imagined a room full of small children running and screaming and throwing things.

"Yes, indeed. You will see Gertrude Willwright, of course. She volunteers the same days and times I do."

"Are you the only volunteers?"

"Oh no." Margaret shook her head. "There are some older women that come in when we are not here. They are sisters, spinster nurses who love to be with the children. I met them just once as I was leaving." She took a deep breath. "Are you ready?" she asked him with her hand resting on the doorknob.

He nodded curtly and hesitantly followed her through the door into a bright room, with children giggling and laughing and screaming and running amok. Two women were among the children, one singing with a group of younger children and Mrs. Willwright was at a table with older children writing. He did not recognize the other young woman. She looked up when they entered the room, and quickly stood and came their way.

"Why Mr. Thornton!" Mrs. Willwright exclaimed with a wide smile. "I did not expect to see you during the day! I am greatly looking very forward to the Mill Master's Dinner this evening though!" She looked between him and Margaret.

"Miss Hale asked me to join her today," he told Mrs. Willwright, smiling at Margaret, "and I was pleased to do so."

"Miss! Miss!" A tiny urchin in a white dress came running and launched herself at Margaret's legs.

Margaret quickly went down on a knee and embraced the little blonde girl.

"The twirler?" he asked Mrs. Willwright with a grin.

"Yes, she is a twirler." Mrs. Willwright laughed and returned to her table of children.

Margaret pulled back from the little girl. "Lily, Mr. Thornton has come to meet you today."

Suddenly a number of other small people gathered around them, many hugging Margaret. She knew each one's name and gave each the attention they wanted, but Lily clung to her until the girl looked closely at him.

"You are tall!" She pulled away from Margaret and raised her arms to him.

He looked at Margaret for guidance.

"She wants you to lift her up," she told him, a cheeky grin on her face.

Little Lily was becoming impatient, hopping from one foot to the other. He bent from the waist and lifted the small creature from under her arms. He held her away from his body quite a distance, and she seemed to kick the air to get closer.

"Real high!" Lily yelled at him, wiggling her tiny body so he would comply.

She was certainly a bossy bit of goods. Again he looked to Margaret, whose lips were twitching with humor.

"You heard her, Mr. Thornton. _Real high!_ And, she will not bite if you hold her closer to you."

He frowned. He had not lifted a child since Fanny was a baby. Lily was considerably lighter than a bale of cotton. He hoisted her over his head, setting her giggling body to sit on his shoulders.

She clapped. "Spin!" She tapped him on his head.

"If I spin, I will get dizzy and fall," he told her as patiently as he could. "We would both fall and that would not do at all."

"Walk! I wanna be tall, too!"

Margaret stood upright with a shrug, but he listened to the little girl and walked ahead slowly, hoping his hands resting on Lily's knees would keep the scrawny, wiggly imp in place. Soon, she started to bounce and clap, indicating, he supposed, that she was enjoying this ride. Then she started singing.

He turned back to look at Margaret's reaction, shocked to see her holding a baby in her arms, cooing softly to it. How natural she looked, how happy. He unconsciously moved back toward her, curious about the baby. A warmth spread through him. She looked so natural holding the child, so at ease.

"That's my baby," Lily told him. "Miss Marg loves my baby."

She did look like she was quite enamored by the bundle.

"And who is this?" he asked Margaret quietly, bending carefully over her shoulder to look at the child, while balancing Lily at the same time.

"My baby!" Lily repeated. "Down now!"

He laughed at her demanding tone, an order delivered as fine as he had ever conveyed to a worker. It worked however, and he did just as Lily asked. He slowly eased the little lass from his shoulders and set her back on firm ground. She immediately pulled on Margaret who bent down to show the baby to Lily.

"Mr. Thornton, this is Kenneth, Lily's baby brother." Margaret shifted the child so Lily was included in her embrace. "Lily sees him only once a day, and as you can see, she is quite attached to him."

Lily was kissing the baby singing to him in a high pitched voice, hugging him. The little boy looked very much like his sister with wisps of blonde hair and clear, bright blue eyes. He was a pudgy, healthy looking lad, who smiled and gurgled at his sister's and Margaret's attention.

"Miss Margaret!" A woman's booming voice sounded from the doorway of the room, bouncing off the unadorned walls. "I understand we have a visitor!"

They turned in unison to see who was calling out to her. It was an older woman, dressed in what he thought looked like a traveling dress. This must be the Miss Bea who Margaret had raved about.

Margaret smiled at her, so he did the same. Lily was back at his side, pulling on his arm to lift her again. He laughed. She was definitely a persistent child. He lifted her, this time settling her on his hip.

"Miss Bea, you have returned." Margaret stood up and walked toward the older woman, still cradling the infant. "How was London?"

"Dismal. I do hate that town." Miss Bea looked at him rather frankly. "I assume you must be Margaret's Mr. Thornton?"

"I am, madam." He nodded curtly and shifted Lily so he could shake the older woman's hand. _Margaret's Mr. Thornton._ Had she spoken of him?

"Welcome to the home," she said. She continued to study him, then suddenly snapped her gaze to Margaret. "How is our Master Kenneth today?"

"Quite well," Margaret answered. "His teeth must no longer be troubling him."

"Teeth?" John asked. It never occurred to him that babies would get teeth so young.

"When babies get teeth, they hurt." She smiled at him excitedly. "See! I have learned all sorts of useful things here!" She laughed while squeezing the baby against her bosom. "I'll go take him back to the nursery, Miss Bea. Lily do you wish to come along?"

The little girl nodded.

"I shall return shortly," Margaret told him.

Lily skipped along behind Margaret, stopping just once to look over her shoulder at him, and grinning widely before racing down the hallway and catching up with Margaret.

"She is quite attached to those two little ones," Miss Bea told him. There was a certain scheming glint in her eye. "I believe they would enjoy spending even _more_ time with each other."

"Miss Hale does enjoy her time here," he said. "I do not believe she had much experience with children before coming to Milton."

"She has done well, _quite well_ , with the youngsters. Especially little Lily and the baby." Miss Bea studied him. "Are you equally skilled with children?"

"Ah… no, likely not." He chuckled, comfortable admitting his inadequacies with children.

"Mr. Thornton, it's our reading circle time." Mrs. Willwright joined them, carrying several children's books in her hand. "Perhaps you will take Miss Hale's place as she is occupied at present?" He felt a sudden jolt of fear as he looked down and saw seven curious young faces staring up at him.

A dark haired little girl took his hand. "You can sit by me."

He allowed her to lead him to the area where two other children were already sitting. The children quickly formed a circle and he soon found himself sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, surrounded by little people crawling on him and getting quite close so they could see what he was going to read. He pulled out a book he recognized from reading to Fanny when she was small and soon he was reading to the group of children as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for him.

At some point, Lily squeezed under his arm, onto his lap. She really was a lovely child. He glanced up as he turned a page and spotted Margaret leaning against the door jamb, a huge smile on her face. How glad he was that he decided to spend the day with her, that he could do something so small and make her so happy!

He tried to hide the grin on his face, but failed. Just seeing her happy made his heart soar. Oh, how he loved that woman! As he finished the book, a nervous excitement grew inside himself, knowing tonight they would become engaged and could begin to plan their future— together.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

John was adjusting his cravat, practicing in the mirror what he would say to his beloved Margaret when he asked for her hand. In mere hours they would be engaged, and then soon after married. _Margaret Ann Thornton._ What a wonderful sound to his ears.

He turned from the mirror to look around his bedroom with a more critical eye. Changes would have to be made, surely, to accommodate Margaret. Another bureau and vanity surely, perhaps another wardrobe as well. He hoped she was not of the opinion she needed her own bed chamber. He wanted more than anything to fall asleep each night with her in his arms.

Another smile slid across his face and he found himself whistling as he turned back to the mirror for a final look. He probably needed a haircut, but there was not enough time to see to that before the dinner guests began to arrive. His mother had been running around the house like a chicken with her head cut-off preparing for the most special of nights. He briefly reminded her of his need for a few minutes of privacy with Margaret, to which she rolled her eyes in response. Fanny had been ranting about her own announcement as well as flashing the ostentatious sapphire and diamond ring she now wore on the third finger of her left hand.

He didn't have a special ring for Margaret, had not even considered the need for it. Would she want to wear something other than a wedding band? Only a few of the mill masters wore wedding bands, Hamper for one. John looked down at his hand and wondered what a ring would look like. He had never owned one. Had his father worn a wedding band? He could scarcely remember what the man looked like.

A light knock sounded on his door, disrupting his dreaming. He glanced at the small clock on his bureau, worried he had taken too long to dress. That was not the case, however. John always kept strict to time, even when the looms were idle.

"Come," he called, turning toward the door, expecting his mother.

Instead, Jane, the housemaid, peeked around the crack of the door. "Sir, there is a Mr. Higgins waiting for you at the servant's door."

Higgins! Now? He sighed, wishing Margaret had not written the note for him to come.

"Thank you, Jane. Please allow him entrance and tell him I will be with him shortly."

"Yes, sir." She curtseyed and oved back to leave.

"Jane," he called out, and when she stopped, he said, "Give him some food and drink. Whatever he would like."

"Yes, sir," she answered again, but added a smile.

Perhaps the man was not the coward John believed him to be, however, this was not something John wanted to deal with at present. His mind had moved ahead to the dinner being prepared below, the arrival of Margaret and her father, Fanny's announcement and if all went to plan, his own.

He took a final look in the mirror, assuring himself he looked his best, and then turned down the lamp before leaving. He chose to go down the back staircase to avoid his mother's orders and expectations. If she thought he was still preparing himself, she would leave him alone. Somewhere in the distance, Fanny yelled at her maid, and a heavy door slammed. Life at the mill house continued on, despite the silence of the looms and emptiness of the weaving shed.

When he entered the kitchen, a room he never went, all activity suddenly stopped. He laughed to himself at the expressions on the faces of the women preparing the dinner. Shock was a mild description, indeed they appeared horrified to see him.

"Does anyone know where I might find Mr. Higgins?" he asked the room at large.

A red-haired maid he had never seen before spoke first. "Jane took him into the scullery, sir."

That was definitely a room he had never been in. With a nod to the red-head, he picked up a biscuit off a well stacked platter of treats, and exited the busy room, to what he was certain was the relief of the dozen women inside.

He ducked behind a curtain, where he expected the scullery to be, but found only linens and plates. He turned in the small hallway and saw a lighted room across the kitchen, on the other end. _That_ was the scullery. Embarrassed by his error, and aware of all the eyes on him, he crossed the busy kitchen, dodging women in his path, and found Higgins awaiting him, sitting on a stool next to the sink, loaded with dirty pans and dishes.

"Apologies for the location, Mr. Higgins," John said as a way of greeting. Higgins stood. "If you'll follow me, my office is not being used at present, and I believe it would be more appropriate for conversation."

Higgins nodded.

"Were you offered refreshments?" John was surprised the man did not have a plate loaded with the food being prepared for the meal.

"Aye," Higgins answered, but failed to elaborate.

John frowned, but did not respond before leading Higgins away from the busy kitchen and walking down a back hallway of the main floor of the mill house. John's office was quite small as he usually did all his work at the mill office, but inside were several chairs and a desk, likely scattered with samples of cotton and paperwork that needed to be filed. Whatever the condition, it was better than the room where Higgins had been waiting, a room where John's undergarments and socks were laundered.

"Please have a seat," John said, seating himself in the straight back chair by the window.

Higgins looked just like his son. Robbie was a red-headed version of his father, wider at the shoulder and taller, but every bit as brawny. Higgins looked uncomfortable. He kept folding and refolding his hands which hung between his knees. He would not quite meet John's eyes.

"I was sorry that you were not at home when Miss Hale and I called today," John stated. "It was my understanding you were aware we were calling today."

Higgins looked up and back down at his hands.

"I suppose it's easiest to represent the interests of your people on a bar stool rather than on the floor of a weaving shed." John said, deliberately baiting the union organizer.

"I was not at the Dragon as my Bessie may have said," Higgins responded in a quiet, sad voice.

"No?" John crossed his legs.

"No." Higgins shook his head and sat up straight. He cleared his throat. "My wife… today was the day she died, seven years ago. My dear Bessie is soon to join her. This morning, I was at the cemetery, sitting… thinking." He looked back down at his hands. "I often visit her grave, trying to get some guidance so I do right by our children."

John had a sharp retort in his head, but he decided instead to let it pass. Bessie would die, Robbie had disappeared and Higgins' wife was gone. This moment needed to be filled with compassion, not censure.

"I came to Princeton to speak with you about the strike," John said quietly, changing the subject. John felt guilty about his judgement of the man, but considering what he knew of Higgins' reputation, he could not be faulted.

"Yes, so I figured," Higgins said.

John took a deep breath and uncrossed his legs to sit upright. "I want my mill up and running soon. If I is not, it may cease to operate entirely."

No response came from Higgins.

"If my mill goes out of business," John explained as if speaking to a child, "other mills will as well."

"Pay more," Higgins said, as simple as can be.

John nodded slowly. "The other masters and I have discussed a pay increase. None of us can afford the increase you and your men have asked for."

"You will, if it comes to closing the mill as the only option." Higgins voice was resolute and determined.

"That is not my only option," John stated, equally firm. "In fact, I have found Irish to replace all my hands."

"Irish," Higgins snorted. "They ain't got no idea how to run these machines. Lazy beggars, the whole lot!"

"They will be trained," John answered with calm.

This power and control struggle was not new to John. Who would blink first? John knew exactly what he could pay his workers and still turn a profit enough to continue to operate the mill without a hiccup. Higgins did not have that knowledge, just like the rest of the men, he only wanted more and more without increasing their productivity.

"Your son would have made a fine income had he stayed with me," John stated.

"He's a fool. Since Bessie turned sick he's been drinking and whoring." Higgins' agitation was growing. "You ain't got kids, Mr. Thornton, and until you do, you have no idea what it is like keeping them healthy and happy."

"No, you are quite right, I do not," John agreed. "But, I do know my mill business. I know that I can offer a small increase in pay if your union men come back at the bell in the morning."

"How much?" Higgins appeared interested.

"A percentage of your wage. The masters agreed on two percent."

Higgins snorted. "That ain't enough to cover the rise in food."

"If, in time, I can increase again, I will," John pledged.

"You pay higher than most already." Higgins stood. "I thank you for your time, Mr. Thornton, but no one is ready to return, not for two percent." He shook his head.

John stood and extended his hand. "I thank you for meeting with me, man-to-man."

Higgins shook his hand. "The woman said you'd be fair and listen. She were right."

"Woman? Is it Miss Hale, you mean?"

"Aye." Higgins nodded curtly. "She has been good to me and mine."

John smiled with pride. "She is a fine woman."

"You'll be good to her?" Higgins asked.

"Aye," John agreed, pleased Higgins did care for Margaret enough to ask. "For the rest of my life."

"So that's how it is?" Higgins lips twisted into a smile. "I wish you well, and pray that you have more years together than me and my missus."

John just nodded. He would not think of such a thing.

"The Irish will be here soon," he warned Higgins as the man was walking away.

Higgins stopped. "I expect there will be violence. I can't do nothing to prevent that."

"Is that a threat or a warning?" John asked.

"Both, I reckon." Higgins tipped his hat. "Good day, Thornton."

John watched the older man leave the room, wondering what was to come. The mill men would not lose their jobs without a fight. John gave Higgins the terms to share with his union men and it was up to them to show at the bell in the morning or be replaced. Their choice, not his.

John turned out the light in the room and meandered down the hallway, following the noise from the gathering crowd. It was early yet, Margaret and her father would not have arrived, but obviously others had. He climbed the main staircase, determined to be at the top waiting for her when she arrived.

Only a dozen or so guests were there, and John mingled the best he could before his mother found him. Fanny was entertaining some young women, being loud and rather obnoxious. His mother joined him as he greeted Mr. and Mrs. Hamper. When they moved along, she pulled on his sleeve.

"All is ready," she whispered. "Jane said Mr. Higgins came to see you?"

"Yes, he has left now." He did not wish to elaborate on the matter. Instead he smiled down at her. "The house looks wonderful, Mother."

"I am pleased," she answered, glancing around the room lit up so bright it could be noon instead of six in the evening.

She was dressed in a dark lavender evening gown, a refreshing change from her normal dour black. Fresh flowers decorated each table, and of course her finest china and silverware were set on the dining table. "Where did you seat Margaret and her father?" he asked her.

"Margaret is to your left," she answered from the corner of her mouth, "Mr. Hale to your right."

"Thank you."

She nodded. "When will you speak with her?"

"After dinner, before the musicians begin."

"Very good." She moved away, smiling at the new couple that entered the fray.

Soon the dreaded Latimer family arrived. It felt like a kick in the gut every time he saw his banker. Latimer's smarmy smile was enough to make John want to punch the man in the throat. His snooty, condescending attitude irritated John, like an infected wound. The family had been invited only because Latimer held a loan on the mill, and John needed to keep him happy.

"John Thornton!"

John ground his teeth to avoid cursing aloud.

"Mr. Latimer, how good of you to come." It was a lie, of course, but that is the phrase a host is supposed to use when greeting guests. John shook the man's hand and turned to greet Mrs. Latimer and their daughter, Ann. "Mrs. Latimer." He nodded politely to the scheming harpy, and then turned to the daughter. "Miss Latimer." She performed a perfect curtsey, however it was hard to miss the large amount of exposed flesh she flashed at him as she bent over.

"Do go ahead, my dear," Latimer told his wife. "You, too, Ann."

He shooed them away like flies and then turned his attention on John.

"Might we share a conversation before dinner?" Latimer asked John.

"Are we not doing that right now?" John asked, feeling his patience dwindle by the second.

"Yes, but a few minutes of privacy would work better for the conversation we must have."

Latimer stood firm, arms crossed against his chest. John was confident he would not be moved unless John complied. John hated not being completely in control of his finances. If he had never installed the wheel which cleared the fluff, John would not be in debt to this ogre.

"Very well," John said. "This way."

John knew the music room would likely be empty for a few more minutes, at least until dinner was finished. If Latimer wanted privacy that was the best he could do. He wanted this meeting over as soon as possible. This evening was already not turning out as he had planned in front of his mirror earlier.

Margaret twirled again, loving the feel of the silk brocade of the new dress against her legs. Aunt Shaw had chosen two different gowns and sent them with a short letter. The directions in her aunt's message had been simple: Choose one for the formal mill master's dinner and save the other for the wedding, thus saving time. It was not a true acceptance of John to the family, but it was as close to it as Margaret was likely to receive.

At least Aunt Shaw no longer referred to John as "the tradesman," as she had in several of her previous correspondence. Perhaps Edith had worked some magic to convince her mother that Margaret loved John and he was a good man, regardless of the fact he was a working man. Every letter to Edith had intentionally been written by Margaret in a positive tone and despite Margaret's difficulties in adjusting to Milton, she did not indicate those concerns to Edith. It would do no good to worry her cousin, or add fuel to her aunt's contemptuous fire.

Upon the arrival of the dresses, Dixon had hidden them, so Margaret only saw the gowns for the first time when she returned from her day with John. Oh, and what a marvelous day it had been! The children had crawled all over him at the foundling home and two young men, perhaps ten or twelve had requested that he eat lunch with them. Shockingly, John had agreed. Although she sat with the girls at a separate table, Margaret knew John had been talking with the boys about machinery. Had he been grooming new apprentices? Some of the mills employed children as young as those boys, but Miss Bea refused to allow her children to work until they were fifteen, or strong enough to run a loom or haul cotton bales.

When he had dropped her off in his carriage, his kiss had been quite lingering, filled with unspoken promises. She flushed, recalling the sensations he'd caused to radiate through her whole body, a certain warmth she had never experienced before. Each time they touched, they proceeded a bit further, into territory reserved for lovers. She sighed, shook her head and switched her mind to less… intimate things.

The dresses… Yes, the dresses were both exquisite. It had been quite a difficult choice between the two. Aunt Shaw knew Margaret's tastes so well! They were both lovely, but the one she saved for the day she would become _Mrs. Thornton_ was fancier, with beautiful, detailed embroidery and beading across the bodice. When she had held it up against her body while looking in the mirror she knew it was perfect for _that_ day, but not a mill master's dinner.

The dress for this evening was a shiny, silky brocade of a muted orchid color. While Margaret never would have selected a shade such as this for herself, once it was on her body, she knew Aunt Shaw had chosen well. The crinoline petticoat widened the skirt, and accentuated the narrow, tight bodice. Margaret also wore a new contraption, a different sort of corset which pushed up her breasts and made her chest seem much fuller, rounder. The amount of exposed flesh was new as well; a daring feat for Margaret, the daughter of a clergyman. She trusted her aunt's taste however, and easily conceded that she looked as fine as she ever had.

"Sit down, Miss Margaret, so I may finish your hair and face."

As she often did, Dixon appeared from nowhere. The maid was carrying a handful of fresh, white rose buds and ribbons which matched her dress perfectly.

"Ah, you did find some ribbons." Margaret had asked earlier in the week that her maid find some.

"Yes, and it was not easy in this town, I might tell you." Dixon began to weave Margaret's freshly washed hair, planting flower buds here and there. "For the future, we best order from London to have a variety of choices on hand."

Margaret laughed. "Oh, Dixon! I doubt I shall have to go to so much trouble more than once or twice a year."

The ribbons were a bit tricky to weave through the fancy braids at the back of her head and Margaret cringed as Dixon pulled harder. "If Mr. Thornton is as important as your father and others have said, I imagine you will be expected to entertain quite regularly. And, you will be a very fine hostess."

"Thank you." Margaret did not agree, however. She was fairly convinced Mrs. Thornton would run the show and even if Margaret also became a Mrs. Thornton, Margaret would never be the true overseer of matters at the mill house.

Dixon began to hum, finishing up Margaret's hair. "Your Mama used to love to have me do her hair." The maid chuckled. "Sometimes she would be so relaxed she would fall asleep."

Margaret smiled wryly, sadly. It was hard to think of Mama at times like this. These fancy events were what her mother lived for. How she loved society, perhaps even more than Aunt Shaw. Margaret wondered how her life might have been different had her parents remained in London instead of moving to the quiet, rural Helstone.

Would John's path still have crossed hers?

Margaret's father rapped softly and came inside her bedroom. "Oh, my dear girl, when you turned just that moment I thought I was looking at your mother!" His broad smile contradicted his watery eyes. "What a handsome young woman!"

"Why thank you, kind sir," Margaret answered, a bit cheeky.

"The carriage is awaiting us." He leaned over and kissed her head. "Mr. Bell has not come up for the dinner. He had an appointment tomorrow to attend, but he sends his very best wishes to us both."

"He is so good to us, Papa. A true friend."

"He is indeed, my dear. He is indeed!" He turned to Dixon who still fussed with Margaret's hair. "Is she ready, Dixon?"

"Yes, sir." Dixon stepped back. "I thought perhaps Miss Margaret would wear Mrs. Hale's pearls this evening, if it pleases you, Mr. Hale?"

"Of course! That is an excellent idea." He clapped. "I shall fetch them. I've placed them, along with your mother's other jewelry in my bureau. I suppose I should just give them to you, Margaret. I shall never wear pearls." He chuckled at his joke as he left.

"Your mother saved her wedding jewelry for you," Dixon said. "I was very careful in my packing of that box so it remains in fine condition for your special day. I am not certain if Mrs. Shaw recalled this jewelry when she picked out your dresses or not, but the set will match the other dress quite well."

"I am certain she did. You know how particular Aunt Shaw is with such details." Margaret stood up from the vanity and turned her head to see the back in the mirror. "It looks very good, Dixon. I thank you."

"This is your first formal party in Milton. Society is not as grand as London, but it does not mean you should not be seen as the finest of ladies from London!"

"Tonight is Miss Fanny's night," Margaret said. Fanny had been talking of nothing else for the past weeks. "I would not want to upstage her." In truth, Margaret did not care, however, she knew Fanny would never forgive her.

"So you said." Dixon snorted.

"What was that for?"

"Miss Margaret you cannot change who you are, who you were raised to be. Tonight may be special for Miss Thornton, but there is nothing that can dim your glimmering light. You are a special, wonderful young woman."

"Why Dixon, that is so kind of you," Margaret said. "I believe you might be a tad biased, however!"

"It is the truth, and do not let anyone make you feel otherwise. You may not be a Milton girl and it may take time for your acceptance by some of the upper crust, but it will come." She pointed her pudgy at Margaret. "Remember, Mr. Thornton loves you. If he shows his acceptance, the rest will follow. At least that is how it works in London. When accepted by the leaders of society, the rest will follow suit."

"You still do not like him, though."

"I will be polite, Miss. As long as he treats you as you deserve to be treated, and you like him, I will be content."

Margaret leaned forward and kissed the maid's cheek. "Thank you." Dixon had always been a part of her life, had been her dear mother's maid and confident since they were in their teens. Dixon was part servant/ part friend, either way she was an intricate part of the family, in Helstone and now here in Milton.

"Here we are!" Margaret's father handed her a long velvet box, which she quickly propped opened.

Every time she saw the set, it took her breath away. Her mother's father, Sir Beresford, had gifted his eldest daughter, Maria, the set for her eighteenth birthday. It looked as fresh today as it likely had more than thirty years earlier. She plucked the earrings from their resting place and placed them through the holes in her ear lobes. Then, she pulled out the short string of pearls and handed them to her father who clasped them under the fancy ribbons and braids at the back of her hair.

"There. Now you are quite perfect!" He rested his hands on her shoulder and tapped gently. "We should be off. It would do no good to leave your man waiting."

 _Your man waiting._ Margaret smiled with a small chuckle. "And do you think he is awaiting our arrival?"

"I am quite certain."

Margaret slipped her feet into her new short-heeled shoes. John was so much taller than she was, the added height on the slippers would not help much, but it did give her a bit more confidence.

She followed her father down the stairs, Dixon closely behind.

"Have a wonderful evening," Dixon told them.

"Thank you," Margaret told her, adjusting her gloves as she and her father left the house at the boy's school.

He helped her navigate the steps of the carriage and climbed in behind her. The driver shut the door and quickly started them on their way.

"Are you excited, my dear?"

"I am _nervous_!" She chuckled. "I know so few people in John's set. I hope I fit in."

"You will do wonderfully," he said. For a moment he sounded like Mr. Bell in his theatrical, dramatic voice. "You have always been a good judge of character. For example, you knew Henry Lennox was not suitable for you, even though he is a fine man."

"He _is_ a fine man, but he is like a …. brother to me… Oh, Papa… I must tell you." She twisted her hands in her lap and looked away from him. "John knows about Frederick." She winced as she looked at him, fearing his reaction.

As his face registered the surprised, a whistle escaped through his teeth. "You told him, or he somehow found out?"

"I told him," she answered quickly. "He was sharing some personal information about his past, including his father's death and I felt… well, I knew I had to be equally open with him."

He looked out the window and quietly asked, "How did he react?"

"His concern was for our safety. He worried that people… law people… were watching us for Frederick to come to us, but I assured John that Fred was far enough away and it had been long enough since it happened that no one would be watching us."

He shook his head quickly, frustrated. "This was a risky idea, Margaret. He is a magistrate. It may put him… or even us… in a difficult situation."

"Was it not better that John heard about Frederick from me… or _you_ … than some military people coming looking for him?"

She felt the need to defend her actions. So often she felt she carried the load for this family. Her mother being fragile and weak in body, her father weak in spirit and fortitude, she was so often called upon to deal with potentially negative situations.

"Yes… of course. You were right in your thinking." He sighed. "I was just hopeful we would not have to discuss it with him at all. It's been so long… Eight years already, Margaret."

"Do you still think of him?"

"Yes." He nodded solemnly. "Everyday. My only son. My dear boy. I never wanted him to go to sea. I had hoped… well, there was a time I hoped he would follow my path." He shook his head I resolution. "I wonder each day what he is doing and hope he is happy and safe. I hope he marries one day, has children even though I may never see them."

"We _should_ go visit him," Margaret suggested trying to lighten the mood. "There is no reason why we should not!"

"Someday." He looked again out the window. "Maybe once you are settled, I shall go and live out my days on a beach in Spain with my son."

Margaret laughed loudly. "I cannot see you doing that, Papa! I cannot imagine seeing you without shoes and socks, walking on the beach." She laughed harder, almost to the point of tears.

"Now, now, you will mess your hair and I have no worldly idea how to repair it."

He was right, of course, but just the image he had planted in her head made her continue to smile. They turned onto the far end of New Street and would very soon be passing under the iron gates of Marlborough Mills.

"As we are soon to be in the long waiting line at the mill, I must tell you something."

"Suddenly so very serious, Papa." She frowned. "Whatever is wrong?"

"It's just this… If Mr. Thornton should ask for your hand," he reached for her hands, "please know that I have given him my blessing to do so. Ultimately, however, it will be up to you if you wish to live in Milton for the rest of your life, because I am quite certain John will not leave here. Also, do not feel pressured to make up your mind immediately. If you are uncertain…"

She squeezed his hand to get him to stop his quick rambling. "I love the man, with my whole heart. He is rough around the edges and nothing like any London man I have ever encountered. I have worries, of course, just as any girl might. Mrs. Thornton does not like me, and John will work long hours once the mill is running again, but I believe he and I can overcome those problems."

"Has he asked you, then?" He sat back against the cushions of Mr. Bell's fine carriage.

"No, sadly, not yet. I thought perhaps today he would, after we visited the children at the orphanage, but he did not."

The ride home from the foundling home with John earlier that day had been so wonderful, really. He was giggly! To see John Thornton so silly about having children crawl all over him and ride on his shoulders was hilarious. He laughed more in those few hours than she'd seem him laugh in the many months she knew him. He asked, too, if he might return again with her someday. Lily had certainly touched his heart, as well. He kept calling her a 'bossy bit of goods.' Seeing him with children had eased her concern about him as a father. Anytime she considered a family with John, she stalled. He was so formidable, so stoic and stern, she had doubted children would get along with him. She had obviously been quite wrong, he performed beautifully with the little people.

"We are here," her father announced.

He'd been correct, there was a line of carriages waiting to deposit their passengers to enter the mill house at Marlborough Mills.

She looked out the window and watched people climbing out of the carriages and slowly entering the house. One of the Thornton's footmen was standing at the entrance, holding the door for the guests. Soon enough, it was their turn to be unloaded, right behind Mr. Watson and an older woman. His mother, perhaps?

Mr. Bell's driver helped her down, and slowly her father followed, lumbering down the carriage steps and stretching slightly as he found firm footing. He extended his elbow with a smile and together, they walked through the wide door of the mill house, just behind Watson and his companion.

She was so excited to see John, she wanted to push all the guests aside to reach him, but instead, she restrained herself and followed the throng of people. She assumed John and his mother would be greeting their guests at the top of the stairs, but she could not see them from where she and her father stood below.

As they were able to climb a few steps, she spotted him. As if sensing her gaze, he turned from the man he was greeting to look at her. Once their gazes locked, an enormous smile crawled across his face. That delicious look alone was reason for her to come tonight.

"You've noticed her, have you not?" his mother asked him.

"I have," he answered from the corner of his mouth, shaking the hands of an older couple from Manchester.

Margaret, who he was certain she was speaking of, looked delectable, but after the conversation he had shared with Latimer nearly an hour earlier, he was in a quandary about how to proceed with his plans for the evening. Latimer had him backed into a damn corner causing John sick with worry over the future of Marlborough Mills.

 _Bastard!_

If the strike was not stressful enough, in only a few well-chosen words, Latimer had clearly stated that unless John began to entertain Ann Latimer, instead of Margaret Hale, Mr. Latimer would swiftly call in all the debt owed by John. The man had no scruples mixing his personal business with the bank business, and so he had. As he carried John's loan, it left John few choices to proceed.

Even if John were to wed Margaret tomorrow, which was a fine idea in his mind, her dowry and his savings to this point, would not be sufficient to cover both the debt to Latimer and pay the workers their wages should they arrive at the bell in the morning. He had great doubt they would, but if the Irish arrived soon he would have to pay them, and there would still be a shortage. His head was whirling with dread and the mere thought that not only the mill was in failure, but soon too would his relationship with Margaret.

And finally it was Margaret's turn to be greeted. The skin of her well exposed chest and shoulders glimmered in the candlelight, her hair situated in such a way to accentuate her flexile neck. She wore a fine dress he had yet to see her in, fitting her in such a way to make her look… sensual. He shifted on his feet, realizing he might well be drooling over his Margaret.

"Good evening, Mr. Thornton," she whispered with a wink. She performed a slight curtsy as he took her gloved hand and kissed the back.

"You look quite fine this evening, Miss Hale," he responded. _What an understatement._

"As do you, kind sir. Mrs. Thornton," she turned to his mother with a slight nod. "That is a lovely shade on you."

Margaret likely had never seen his mother in anything but black. How rarely had he!

"Thank you." His mother gave Margaret a small smile. "We are glad you have come."

"Come, Papa," Margaret steered her father away, "they have others to greet."

John's gut tightened as she smiled at him over her shoulder; a smile full of love and promises. How could he hurt her? How could he let her go? Latimer gave him twenty-four hours to make the choice:

 _Marlborough Mills or Margaret._


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty- Seven

"Margaret, you must place the food in your mouth in order to eat it, my dear," her father teased. "Merely toying with it on your plate is not sufficient."

She looked up from her breakfast with a wan smile. Her mind was definitely not on the food before her, but rather on the disastrous meal of the night before. She took a bite of toast to placate her father, and then a quick sip of tea.

"I suppose you are reflecting on the unmitigated _calamity_ which we witnessed last night?"

It _had_ been a calamity, a horrible unfortunate event which Milton will certainly gossip about for months to come. _Poor John_.

"Yes, Papa," she answered quietly, dejectedly.

"Milton will not soon forget it, I fear."

She wholeheartedly agreed. Margaret would not forget it anytime soon, either.

"Well, daughter, as much as I would like to stay and commiserate with you about the dinner, I must be off to the school to be certain the boys are in fine form." He pushed away from the table and after wiping his mouth of crumbs, set his napkin on the table and stood. Before leaving, he gave her a loving, fatherly look. "Try not to dwell too much on last night, my dear. Surely something else will happen in Milton soon and push the memories from the mill master's dinner from everyone's mind."

She nodded, but knew there was no way to avoid thinking about the night before. Once her father had gone, she set down her fork and napkin, reasoning there was no longer a need to pretend to have an appetite as she was the only one at the table. She drank some more tea, needing something in her stomach to settle it. Although she claimed no special powers, Margaret was full of dread, knew that something horrible would surely come to Milton within the next few days. She rested her head against the back of the chair and she sighed. Something was tearing at her heart, had been since last night, and she could not understand it.

Dixon bustled in the small dining room removed the dirty dishes and quickly left again without comment.

Most Fridays Margaret ate lunch with the Thorntons. She often stayed late in the day to play the piano with Fanny or simply read with John in the parlor. Margaret missed the piano in Helstone and London. She was not the best musician, but she enjoyed playing. Fanny was kind enough to share her fine instrument with Margaret and would even sing along on occasion. The piano was one of the few things Fanny and Margaret had in common, and it prevent the girl from whining- at least for a short time.

After last night, however, Margaret knew she should not go anywhere near the mill house today, no matter how much she wanted to see John. He had so much to think about, she did not wish to distract him. A walk on the school grounds, however, would improve Margaret's mood far more than sitting at an empty table, staring at a plate of cold eggs and fretting.

Once she heard her father leave through the back door of the house, Margaret pushed away from the table and stood, determined to have a good day. She moved to the window to follow her father's progress to the main building of the school. Once he was inside, she would leave for her walk. She did not want to delay him, and she knew if he saw her forlornly wandering the grounds he would join her and try to cheer her up. He had work to do, and she had some growing up to do.

Margaret moved from the window and into the kitchen where Dixon was cutting vegetables. "I'm going out for a walk, Dixon. I shan't be too long."

"Take a cloak," the maid warned. "There is a chill in the air today."

"Thank you," Margaret said, smiling at Dixon before plucking an older woolen coat off the hook in the kitchen and clasping it in the front.

Once outside, she followed her father's path for a short time, but then diverted her way toward her favorite, secluded spot, deep into a large grove of trees on the edge of the school grounds. She had found this secluded spot when they first arrived at the boy's school. When Dixon was whining and complaining about Milton and Margaret needed some quiet time alone, she would come here and escape. The ground was still a bit damp from the morning dew, but Margaret hardly noticed it as she sat in her usual spot, under a robust English Oak.

She rested her head against the trunk of the tree and stared off, not really focusing on anything, simply watching nature. She had not slept well, should have stayed in bed much longer, but knew there was little point, her mind was whirling too quickly to sleep. Besides, it was a sunny day, something so very rare in Milton that she had to take advantage of it, even if only for an hour or so.

Her thoughts quickly shifted to the evening before, reviewing and dissecting each section of time, trying to understand exactly what happened and what might result from it. Perhaps her expectations for John before the dinner had been too high? She had thought she and John would be attending as a _couple_ , and thus spend most of the evening with each other, conversing with other guests _together_... as a courting couple, in her experience, usually would. That was not what happened, however. If anything, it had felt to Margaret as if John were avoiding her! Even when they were within the same small group of people, he would scarcely look at her, much less speak with her. Indeed he spoke no more than ten words to her the whole of the evening!

Margaret did notice, however, he was _quite_ attentive to Miss Ann Latimer, his banker's daughter. Margaret believed at first she was just being suspicious and jealous. Miss Latimer was John's guest and required some attention, whereas he and Margaret were courting and had spent the whole day together. But, when it came time to be seated for dinner, and Margaret was not seated next to John, her rightful place, based on their familiarity, and Ann Latimer was there instead, Margaret knew something was not right. To add insult to injury, Margaret and her father were seated at the very opposite end of the very long table, as far away from John as Margaret could be seated, next to Mrs. Thornton.

Mrs. Thornton seemed legitimately surprised at the seating arrangement, and even commented and apologized for it to Margaret more than once. _If Mrs. Thornton had not placed the name cards, who had?_ Fanny? Perhaps Fanny wanted John to know Ann better and this was a small way she could help matters along? Not wanting to make a scene, Margaret had held her tongue, and sat quietly in the spot where her name card was placed, between Mr. Hamper and Mrs. Thornton. John would not make eye contact with Margaret, and seemed oblivious to the slight. Mrs. Hamper kept Margaret's father entertained, which pleased Margaret and created a soft niche in Margaret's heart for the older woman, but she felt extremely unwelcome.

Mr. and Mrs. Willwright did not attend as expected. Thomas' father was taken gravely ill and the couple were called to his home. That left Margaret with an even smaller group of acquaintances at the dinner. With John's seeming indifference, Margaret and her father spent the evening quite alone. Fanny, exuberant and loud, took much of the attention, which was her due, considering her engagement was to be announced, but it was annoying to Margaret who felt ignored by her lover the whole evening.

 _Poor Fanny_. The evening did not end how she had hoped, either. Her engagement was _not_ formally announced as she had planned. Instead, the dinner was disrupted far before that with distressing news from John's overseer, Mr. Williams. It seemed the highly anticipated replacement workers from Ireland were redirected to mills at Manchester, and no others would be arriving anytime soon. All the mill masters had hastily exited the dining room right in the middle of the fourth course of Mrs. Thornton's meticulously designed dinner, creating a chaotic disruption.

True to form, Mrs. Thornton took it all in stride, and moved from the delicious main course of beef collops in a whiskey-mushroom gravy, right to the desert course of peach crisp topped with cream. Coffee was then served in the sitting room, and upon John's request, the musicians were sent home. There was nothing to celebrate, he had whispered to his mother in what Margaret found to be a rather surly tone. John had given Margaret a look she was still trying to decipher, and left the dining room again to likely collaborate with his fellow masters.

One-by-one the guests that were not directly related to the running of a mill awkwardly left the house party, and soon it was down to several wives and Margaret and her father waiting for the masters to join them again. Feeling grossly out of place, she asked her father if they could leave and thankfully, he complied without hesitation. The ride home to the boy's school had been nearly silent. After all, they agreed, the only good thing from the whole of the evening was the delicious beef.

Now, Margaret stretched out her legs and rolled onto her stomach in the grass. She rested her chin on her folded hands and sighed. She'd had such high hopes for the evening, even thought maybe she and John might have their own engagement to announce when it was all said and done. _Poor Fanny_. The girl had been in tears when Margaret and her father left, disappointed the attention was not centered on her, but instead remained on the problems and issues of the mills which ran the economy of Milton.

Margaret shifted her head and rested her cheek on her hands and closed her eyes. She was so tired, and felt so overwhelmed with… things, but the sun felt wonderful on her back, making her hesitant to go back inside and mope around. Dixon would stalk her, trying to make her feel better with food, and that was not what Margaret needed today. She needed John's arms around her, comforting her.

Today, everything bad suddenly came to her mind. The last nine months, starting with her mother's passing had been difficult, but as time passed, it seemed to get a bit easier. Somedays, however, the loss just crept up on her and it was hard to move passed. The move to Milton had presented further challenges, like Mrs. Thornton. Bessie's health, too, was weighing heavy on Margaret's heart. As the days progressed and challenges mounted… Margaret was becoming weaker instead of stronger. Talking about Frederick with her father and John the day before reminded her of what it felt like to lose a brother. As she struggled through these trials, John had been her rock, giving her strength. After last night, his support was no longer a certainty.

She wished Gert Willwright had been at the dinner. Margaret would have had someone to talk to, someone who actually _liked_ her, unlike Fanny and Mrs. Thornton. She wished, too, that Edith was closer and Margaret could ask her what she thought of John's odd behavior the night before. She could hardly ask her father and there was no one else…

How _alone_ she felt at that moment!

Margaret sat up sluggishly. She needed to send a note to Gert and see if Mr. Willwright's father was faring better today. Margaret could at least help her through the pain of losing a parent, if it came to that. She needed something to occupy her time as well, something to take her mind off her worries. Perhaps she would go read with the younger boys at the school after lunch. Margaret did not feel emotionally strong enough to see Bessie today or discuss the mill business with Mr. Higgins, so she would simply stay close to home.

With that plan in mind, she retraced her steps home. She went back through the door from which she left, felt surprise Dixon was no longer in the kitchen, but hung up her cloak, splashed some water on her face from the bowl near the sink, and went toward the sitting room, intent on writing a message to Gert. She'd promised one to Edith highlighting the Mill Master's Dinner, but she wasn't certain how she might word the disaster in such a way that it seemed less… disastrous and heart-breaking.

Just as she sat at her father's writing desk, Dixon's heavy footfalls could be heard coming down the stairs. She'd likely been tidying Margaret's bedroom or perhaps her father's much messier room. Margaret pulled out a sheet of paper and inked her quill, just as Dixon rushed in the sitting room.

Out of breath, she sputtered, "Miss Margaret! I thought I heard you come back."

Margaret turned toward to maid. "It's a lovely morning out. The sun is out!"

Dixon's face fell and she paused before fishing a letter from a pocket in her white frilly apron. Slowly she walked forward and handed it to Margaret. "A messenger arrived with this while you were out," she said quietly.

Her stomach plummeted when she read _Margaret Hale_ scrawled across the front of the letter in John's familiar, bold handwriting. Perhaps he was offering an explanation, but why would he not come to her in person? Vexing, indeed.

"Thank you, Dixon," Margaret said quietly.

As soon as Dixon tipped her head and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her, Margaret swallowed back her trepidation and tore open the letter.

The opening line did not bode well for the rest of John's missive.

 _Miss Hale,_

"Miss Hale?" she asked the room aloud. "When was the last time he referred to me as Miss Hale?"

She continued, her frown deepening as she continued.

 _As you witnessed last evening, my mill has been placed in an even more precarious position. The Irish were the last chance I had to bring Marlborough Mills up and running. As I write this, it is just after the bell and none of my hands have returned, thus removing any hope of recovery without some drastic measures._

 _I feared one day I would be placed in a position to choose between my work and you, and it seems that day has indeed arrived._

"No. No. No!"

She flew from her seat to the window, furious at John.

How dare he! He had once said… what had he said? He'd said Margaret was his _everything_. To him, the mill was a job, but _she_ was his life. After several minutes of panicked pacing, she got the courage to look back down at the letter, dreading what else he had to say, knowing after last night's behavior he had chosen the mill over her.

 _I have been offered a way to bring the mill back up, and I see no other choice but to accept it. In doing so, I must break company with you…_

"No other choice?" She wanted to throw something or to run to the mill house and shake him! "You _must_ break company with me? But, why? Why _must_ he?"

 _My banker, Mr. Latimer has presented the terms of the agreement and I am forced to comply, despite my feelings on the matter._

 _John Thornton_

"Not even sincerely, John Thornton? Damn…bloody… coward!" she cursed. "He could not even bring himself to come to see me in person!" She growled. "Well, that explains the attention he paid to Miss Ann Latimer last night." She huffed again and flopped onto the sofa, landing emotionally somewhere between intense anger and utter misery.

Again, she needed Edith, or Gert or anyone who knew how she should proceed. She had never officially courted a man, or been set aside by one. How did a proper lady proceed? Must Margaret simply step aside and let him trample over her heart and move on to Ann Latimer or should she be bold, and perhaps crazy, and fight for the man? Did women fight for men, was that the right thing to do? Lord, she had no worldly idea!

She re-read the letter one more time, realized he was steadfast in his decision, that ultimately it was all about money, something she had very little of to offer him and the success of his mill. John was a proud man, and used the success of Marlborough Mills define his own worth and power in the world. The mill's closing had been a shattering blow and Margaret knew he was desperate to be back at work. Latimer must have offered substantial money _and_ his pretty daughter in the deal, and of course John would leap at both…

So much for his deep love and devotion to Margaret! She snorted. It was better to be angry than sad, and right now Margaret was livid. In truth, she did not like Milton. The whole town made her sad and depressed and there was almost nothing to recommend it. She had come to support her father, along with the hope of John's love, and a bright future. She snorted at her own stupidity. Aunt Shaw warned her not to trust men… how she wished she would have better protected her heart!

The thought of seeing John again made her stomach twist in a knot, seeing him with Ann… well that made her gag audibly.

A plan popped quickly in her head and she decided to go with it. There was nothing keeping her in Milton. Her father was doing well, he had settled in the school and from all reports its was going very smooth for him. Dixon could handle anything he might need at the house. Margaret would simply slip from town for a while. Perhaps time and distance would help her determine how to handle what was to come? She was not going to sit here and waste away, worrying she might encounter John, and desperately _wanting_ to encounter him.

"To London I shall go!"

She stood quickly and returned to her writing desk. She needed to contact Gert and Bessie and Miss Bea before she left. She was not certain how long she would be gone, just knew she had to leave sooner than later. She decided not to tell Bessie she was leaving… it might worry her, instead Margaret would say she would see her soon. Gert and Miss Bea she would be honest with, as they had begun to rely upon her attendance at the home. How she would miss Lily and Kenneth! She shook herself out of the worry, it could not be helped. They would remember her whenever she returned, and maybe, just maybe a family would adopt them in to a happy home.

Margaret pulled out John's letter and flipped it over. On its back, she scribbled a note to her father, planning to place it in his room before she left. He would know where she went and why, and that she would soon return to him. Wherever her papa lived, she would make her home. But, for the time being, she needed to be away from Milton. Her father would understand, as would her Aunt Shaw.

Plan in her head, she found Dixon and asked her to call up Mr. Bell's carriage and after leaving her father John's letter, she packed a small bag with only the most necessary of items as some of her belongings were still at the house on Harley Street. She would _not_ tell Dixon where she was going, Margaret would instead let her father do that when it was necessary.

As she boarded the carriage she wasn't entirely certain what she was feeling, she was just sure she needed to put Milton and its inhabitants behind her for a while.

Saturday morning in Milton was much like any other day, however, for John, it was as if God had smiled on him. His workers were back, the looms were running at full capacity and the sun was even shining. Miracles did happen!

From his vantage point, overlooking the floor of Marlborough Mills, John was satisfied by the productivity being displayed. Friday afternoon, he had made visits to influential union men, confirming the four percent raise for anyone who returned to his mill Saturday at the morning bell. His floor and sheds and courtyard were full of employees anxious to receive their wages once again. His mill was the only one running today, the other masters still deciding if they could afford the raise or not. They would have to increase wages, or he would dominate the market in Milton. And, if he could locate a new buyer to replace the man who went under, he would be satisfied that business was on the upswing.

Unfortunately to achieve this stability, he had been forced to virtually sell his soul to the devil Latimer. John did not like being controlled by anyone, which is why he worked so hard to become a mill master, and here he was now not only having his business controlled by another, but also his personal life.

John spied his mother walking behind the women at the looms, pausing here and there to watch the women as they ran the power looms, nodding as she went, clearly as pleased as he was that business was running once again. She had things on the floor well under control, and he was confident with her continued help the floor would be running smoothly in no time. In a few minutes he would go out to the weaving sheds and the courtyard to be sure things were moving just as smoothly there as well. There were three pending orders that needed to be filled before the end of the coming week, or he would risk losing their revenue. He would focus energy on those for the rest of the day, and ensure they will be ready for shipment.

For now, he sat heavily at his desk and rested his face in his hands. Despite the industry below and so many small matters which he should be focused on, his heart and mind were situated across town at the boy's school and on Margaret Hale.

There was nothing wrong with Ann Latimer, except that she simply was not Margaret Hale.

Last night he was invited to dine with the Latimer family and afterward finalized the additional loan from the bank, enabling him to reopen the mill with the raise to his workers. He tried, really he did, to enjoy his time with the Latimer family, but it was simply no good.

He realized, not for the first time, there was no attraction on his part to Ann Latimer, despite her best attempts at flirting and fine looks. From an indifferent view, she was a pretty girl, with fine manners, but she had no personality. There was nothing they could speak of at length, with any depth. He had tried multiple subjects, things he knew his sister was interested in, but she contributed little to the discussion. She was almost like a statue, sitting quietly, smiling pretty as he talked, but saying next to nothing. She had not understood his humor, which he found awkward and uncomfortable. He was not completely comfortable around people to begin with, and forced to make inconsequential small talk was a continual challenge, being under the scrutiny of Mr. Latimer had just added greatly to his discomfort.

Mrs. Latimer had an odd, annoying, twittery laugh and laughed at everything her husband said, even when it was not remotely funny. She liked to speak about people in less than positive terms and continued talking even when no one was listening. When she _dared_ to bring up the Hales, he quickly steered the conversation away. He was not going to listen to Mrs. Latimer criticize that family, a family he desperately wished to be a part of.

Latimer himself was an arrogant braggart. John had known the man for years, but had avoided most personal interactions with him. Seeing him occasionally at dinners and concerts was plenty enough for John. The idea of expanding their acquaintance on a more personal level was distressing. For the moment, Latimer had him

Ann would never be Margaret Hale. Nor would she ever become _Ann Thornton_ , no matter how badly she and her parents wished for it. Why Ann wanted him, when they were so different in temperament, John could not hardly understand. Yes, he was an influential man in Milton, but there were other bachelors she could meet, and having come from Switzerland's finest finishing school surely she could attract someone else?

The idea of coming to know the Latimers better, spending more time in their company was troubling, sickening really. The Hales might come from a different background, but even Margaret's Aunt Shaw's haughtiness was more appealing than any behavior John had seen from the Latimers. John had come to look at Mr. Hale as a father figure, a mentor of sorts. He was a gentle soul, timid almost, but so full of knowledge and education, John knew he could learn an unlimited amount of things from the older man, most importantly how to be a good man, a good husband, perhaps one day… a good father.

But, for now, John had to avoid the boy's school. He had to make it appear to anyone who might be monitoring his activities that he and Margaret were no longer courting, that they had broken company with each other and he had moved on to Ann Latimer. It had to appear that way to _everyone_ , including his dearest Margaret and his mother, or his scheme would simply not work.

A knock on the office door snapped John from his reverie. He looked up and spotted Williams' face through the glass.

"Come," John called, waving his overseer inside. "Is everything alright?" John asked as soon as the man was inside.

Williams opened his mouth and closed it right away, then opened it again with a deep frown. "Yes sir, all is well in the mill. But..." Williams frowned again.

"Spit it out, Williams!" John demanded.

"Robbie Higgins is below asking to speak with you," Williams rushed to answer.

Now John understood why the man was hesitant to talk.

"About a job, no doubt?"

John had expected the boy to come back eventually begging for employment.

"Don't rightly know." Williams shrugged. "I figured I ought to ask before sending him up to see you."

John leaned back in his office chair and steepled his hands, briefly pondering the situation.

"I'll see him Williams, but you better stay with him." He pointed at his overseer. "Make sure he doesn't cause any trouble."

Williams shrugged. "He looks rather contrite and humble if you ask me."

John nodded, satisfied with Williams' appraisal.

"I'll bring 'im up," Williams said, leaving the office without looking back for confirmation.

John pushed from the desk and stood, preparing to meet the young man. He had not seen Robbie since he had sacked him, the day Margaret arrived in Milton. He imagined the boy was slithering back here looking for his job, just as Milton was getting up and running again.

It was not long before Williams was showing the young man inside and entering himself, closing the door behind them. Robbie looked rough, as if he had not slept in days or cleaned himself up in weeks.

"Well?" John demanded of Higgins. "What are you here to say?"

"Mr. Thornton," he began hesitantly, but looked John in the eye, "my sister Bessie sent me lookin' for Miss Margaret. Bessie be in a bad way today and needs to see Miss Margaret."

 _Margaret!_

"She is at the boy's school where her father works," John answered simply.

Had he really come on his sister's errand, or was that merely a rouse to pacify John before begging for his job back?

"No, sir, she ain't." When Robbie shook his head, his curls flew through the air in a blur. "Some old mean hag answered the door and said Miss Margaret left town. She wouldn't tell me where Miss Margaret went and I thought… I _hoped_ you would know."

Margaret left town? John's letter had upset her so much she would leave Milton and her father?

"I do not know where she has gone, Robbie," John answered honestly. "Surely her father will know. Perhaps you can go back to the school and seek him out. He knows how important Bessie is to Miss Hale. He will tell you."

"Yes, sir. I reckon yer right." Robbie tipped his head and placed his head and placed his hat back upon his unruly curls. "I thank you fer yer time."

"Robbie," John called as he reached the door. "Please let me know when Bessie's time comes."

Robbie face fell, and then nodded slowly before turning to leave. John called him back again.

"Clean yourself up and be here at the bell on Monday," John said quietly. He pointed at the boy. "No more shenanigans and I want to see the good worker I know you are."

A look of shock skittered across Higgins' face. "Why would you do that for me, Master?"

Good question. It had just jumped in John's head and he knew he had to offer it to him.

"Miss Hale values your family," John said simply. "You are a good worker when you choose to be, and I need all the good workers I can get. Williams and I," John glanced at his overseer, "were grooming you to be overseer one day. Prove to me you can be that person." John crossed his arms against his chest. "Everyone deserves a second chance."

He hoped Margaret would feel that way one day, when he was certain Milton and the mill were stable enough to take her as a wife.

"Thank you, sir." Higgins' pleasure was obvious in his clear blue eyes. "I won't let you down this time."

"See that you do not," John stated.

John let him leave this time, proud of himself for bending to help the young man. Williams remained behind, an odd, concerned look upon his face.

"What?" John snapped.

"Nothing, Master," Williams shook his head. "I'm just trying to sort through things in my head."

"You keep a close eye on Higgins." John sat back at his desk, ready to get back to the work scattered in front of him. "At even the slightest hint that he's failing, you must alert me."

"Aye, Master, I shall."

Williams still wasn't leaving.

"Something else troubling you?" John asked his man.

"Emmm…" Williams paused. "Well, I suppose I just wished to say I am sorry to hear the rumors about you and Miss Hale are true."

"Rumors?" How could there be talk of their break-up be spreading already?

"I don't usually listen to the nonsense, you see, but people were saying that you are no longer keeping company with Miss Hale, that it's you and Miss Latimer together now."

 _Damn._

"Yes, that rumor is true," John confirmed.

Williams nodded. "I wish you the best, Master."

John nodded. "Anything else?"

"No, sir. Back to the floor I go!" Williams tipped his head and left John's office.

John sat heavily at his desk and scrubbed his face with his hands. If rumors were already swirling about his life, it was good Margaret left town. He did not wish her to feel any pain whatsoever from his choices, and he knew from his past the people of Milton could be cruel. She deserved nothing but happiness and it hurt him that he would bring her any pain.

He had taken the coward's route by failing to meet with Margaret in person Friday morning, sending the pathetic letter instead. He was convinced he could not have gotten through the situation without honestly explaining his master plan, and that would have jeopardized what he needed to do.

He stood again. Too unsettled to simply sit, he stalked out of his office and down toward the weaving sheds. Margaret likely went to London, home to her Aunt Shaw and Cousin Edith. As long as Henry Lennox left her alone, at least until John could come and make amends, all would be well… or so he hoped and prayed.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"You know Johnny, I am rather pleased how well this has worked out. Surprised, for certain, but pleased," Fanny babbled on as she and John and Mr. Watson bounced across town in Watson's fine carriage to fetch Miss Ann Latimer.

John was certain he was in hell, deservedly being punished for his choice to take Latimer's blood money. Perhaps Latimer truly _was_ the devil in the disguise of a banker. Walking out today, Sunday, had been Fanny's choice after church services and Ann had agreed quickly, before John even had an opportunity to come up with a legitimate excuse. Watson, Fanny's puppet, had readily agreed to spend the day with her, and pushed John to join them.

"Mama and I were expecting a betrothal any day, you know," Fanny continued. "Why my Watson and I even discussed a double wedding, did we not?" Watson started to agree, but she went on, as she so often did. "Think how grand we would have made that?" When her eyes became dreamy and glazed, John looked away.

He was in hell. He knew, even as he had written the letter to Margaret, that he was making the mistake of a lifetime, but what choice did he have? He had to do what was best for the mill, for his workers and for his family. His needs could not be placed first. They were never placed first, not when so many people relied upon him.

"Thornton," Watson cleared his throat, "Fanny and I were hoping you would stand with me at the wedding? It would please us both."

No choice for that one. "Yes, of course. I would be honored. Thank you, Watson." He tipped his head to his sister, "Fanny."

"Ann is so pleased to have your attentions finally," Fanny continued. "I have asked her to stand with me, so we will be couples at the wedding, also." Her giggle was like a knife in his gut.

This day was going to be long and painful.

"Have you settled on a date?" John asked quietly.

"Yes." Her mass of unruly curls flung about as she nodded her head quickly. "The first Sunday in November."

"Very good," John answered with a curt nod.

He was glad it was set on a Sunday, so the mill production would not be effected. Watson had likely, and wisely, suggested that. Watson's workers would be returning tomorrow. Most of the mills would be operating again come morning. Slickson was the only hold-out, but John was confident by the end of the week he would be on board with the worker's raise and have his looms operating once again.

Milton was returning to normal for most, but not for John. His heart was hurting, his loss of Margaret far more acute than he had expected. Even knowing his plan, to reunite with her as soon as he could pay Latimer in full, did not provide comfort. She had become the most critical component of his life, equal, he realized, to the importance of his mill.

What a fool he was! He should have included Margaret in his decision making. After all, if he expected her to be his partner- for life- they would have so many decisions to make together, _'til death do them part_. As hard as it was to swallow and admit, he had made an enormous mistake, had known it when he did it, but panicked when he saw so few options. He just prayed Margaret would still speak with him and forgive his idiocy. If not, then he really would be doomed to hell, and deserve every piece of pain he would feel.

"Here we are!" Fanny said, smiling, waving wildly to Ann who was already standing outside, waiting for them.

The carriage driver opened the door and Fanny and Watson both looked at John expectantly. With an internal groan, John unfolded his body and stepped down to assist Miss Latimer into the carriage.

"Hello again, Miss Latimer." He smiled kindly to her, but felt hollow inside.

"What a beautiful day to walk out!" Ann gushed as she climbed inside.

While John was assisting Ann, Watson had moved across the carriage to sit next to Fanny. That left the other bench open for John and Miss Latimer. He realized it might actually be a good thing that Fanny was with them, perhaps she would get Ann to speak, or at least fill in the awkward silences that John had experienced at dinner, while in her company.

The time between picking up Miss Latimer at her home and the short trip to the only park within Milton was spent with Fanny and Ann talking about people they saw at the church services that morning.

"Fanny!" John chastised. "Do not speak so ill of our fellow parishioners. You have just come from church, surely the Lord would not judge others as harshly as you are."

"Oh pish, John! I am quite certain they are doing the same, speaking of us.

Narcissist was Fanny's middle name.

"That hardly makes it the right thing to do." John looked beseechingly at Watson, hoping the other man would support him, but Watson simply shrugged and looked out the window.

John blew out a puff of air and looked away from the gossiping girls. Ann was the same age as Margaret, but she was not nearly as mature and grounded. Ann had much growing up to do, despite her supposed _finishing_ at the fancy Swiss school.

The park was packed full of folks wanting to see others and in turn be seen. The ladies would enjoy the attention, but John was hungry for the trees and fresh air. The carriage stopped at the main entrance, and John quickly stepped down, followed by Fanny and Ann. Watson closed the door behind him and immediately lit his pipe. If John smoked he would have done the same, the time spent in the small space with the others was enough to make him want a stiff drink.

Fanny clasped onto Watson's arm like a vice and pulled him along. As John and Ann followed, he was careful to remain an appropriate distance to avoid Ann latching onto him. As they passed others, John was greeted by many. As there was no distinction in the public park between the wealthy and the poor, a variety of folks spoke with him. Watson was not so well acknowledged, but he did not seem concerned.

"When shall we meet again this week, John?" Ann asked, her eyes wide, lashes blinking quickly under her gaudy straw hat.

"Ah…" He mentally consulted his calendar. "Have you something in mind, Miss Latimer?

"Oh John, you must call me Ann." She giggled. "We have been friends for so long, you know. It is rather silly to be formal with each other, is it not?"

Then she did it. She threaded her hand through his arm. He stiffened, but did not pull away, sensitive to the eyes that were on them.

"There is a concert this Thursday," she suggested. "Perhaps you would care to escort me?"

No, he did not want to, but he would, to keep Latimer happy.

"Yes, I would be able to do that," he answered. He would not be happy to do it, but he would be pleasant and friendly.

"Do not look so glum, John. It will be fun!" She tapped his forearm with her folded fan. "I thought you enjoyed the concerts that came to Milton?"

"I do, yes," he agreed. It was the company he was dreading, not the singers.

"Then we shall have great fun." She squeezed his arm and laughed again.

They walked on for a bit, following a distance behind Fanny and Watson. Watson seemed to enjoy having Fanny clinging to him, indeed they seemed very comfortable with one another. Perhaps John's concerns for that couple were unfounded. Maybe Fanny actually _did_ like the much older man, not just his money. Or, maybe she was just a fine actress and John needed to borrow some of her drama skills in order to deal with Ann Latimer for the time being.

He stopped walking when the realization hit him. He had been critical of Fanny for marrying for money, yet by spending time with Ann, he was indicating to the rest of the world that he had chosen to act in the same way.

"Damn," he cursed under his breath.

"Are you well?" Ann asked quietly, looking up at him with a concerned look upon his face.

He paused before answering her. "Yes, fine, thank you."

They walked on a bit farther and then he stopped again.

"Miss Latimer," he was careful to use her formal name, "why do you wish to spend time with me?"

"Why? Why?" she sputtered. "Why not, John?"

He frowned. "I am considerably older than you, Miss Latimer. We come from much different backgrounds, and I do not believe we have much in common, do we?"

In reality he had never held an extended conversation with Miss Latimer. Beyond the formal greetings and goodbyes, there was nothing of substance discussed between the two of them. She would visit Fanny often but he was rarely at home, or if he was, he did not often participate in their discussions.

"I have admired you for a long time." She started them walking again. "Fanny and I have been bosom friends for almost ten years already, since we attended piano lessons with each other."

Had she truly been around that long? He had never noticed. She was Fanny's friend, not his and although he knew she was often at the mill house, it was not as if they had significant, personal contact. John believed she liked what he thought he was because there was no one in the world that knew who he truly was- except Margaret Hale. She was the only one he had opened up to utterly and completely.

"If I may be so bold, sir," she continued, "I find you quite handsome, and you're successful in business. Both things are _quite_ appealing to me." She tipped her head, with a grin he supposed she believed was comely.

How did a man react to such compliments?

"Thank you," he said, although he was not entirely comfortable with her interest.

He did not want Miss Latimer to like him. He could behave odious, he supposed, rude, mean, but that was hardly in his character. This whole situation was not her fault, but rather her father's scheming, and John did not wish to be cruel to her.

He led them to an iron bench and invited her to sit. He joined her, at a distance.

"I must tell you what you likely already know," he said softly, gently. "Miss Margaret Hale and I courted for many months, just above five in fact. Your father has requested that I spend time with you, and I agreed to do so. You are a fine woman, Miss Latimer, but please understand my… interest… remains elsewhere."

"I see." Her face dropped and suddenly her hands, folded in her lap, became very interesting to her.

"I tell you this because I do not wish you to be hurt. You must understand I find nothing lacking in you, but rather because of my recent time with Margaret…" This was damn hard to put into words! "I fear I cannot give you all the attention you deserve because my heart remains elsewhere."

"I understand," she repeated. With a frown, she asked, "So, you do not wish to know me better?"

"I like you, Miss Latimer," he said with meaning. "I have always found you to be pleasant and friendly, and I would be pleased to continue to associate with you, but I do not believe any emotional…relationship… will develop. Nothing beyond the… association… we have already established."

"What of Miss Hale?" she asked.

"What about her?" he asked, his voice a bit short.

"You plan to reunite with her?"

"I cannot speak about that just now." Nor would he ever with Miss Latimer.

"Is she still even in Milton? I have heard rumors she has left."

"As I said, I do not wish to speak about Miss Hale. Come," he stood, "Let us continue on and enjoy this beautiful day, shall we?"

He did extend his elbow for her this time, hoping she would get up and change the subject. Once they rejoined the pebbled path, he focused on a patch of colorful flowers ahead of them, commenting that he was surprised they were still blooming at this time of Autumn. That seemed to be enough for her to go on about flowers for quite some time, and distract her from Margaret's whereabouts.

Nature, it seemed, was a neutral topic, one which they could both expound upon until Fanny and Watson were ready to leave.

"Mama, I do think we must have Dr. Willminton come and see Margaret," Edith said it in hushed tones, but loud enough for Margaret, standing in the hallway outside the dining room, to hear.

"Last night Margaret told her maid, Becky, that she was not ill," Aunt Shaw answered.

"Then why has she kept to her room since she arrived Friday evening?" Edith's voice was terse, angry at her mother or perhaps showing frustration at Margaret for not spending time with her?

"It is quite possible she simply needed some time to collect herself," Aunt Shaw suggested. "Coming from Milton to London is a long journey. Perhaps the train ride was difficult?"

"Mother, it has been _three_ days since she left her room," Edith said harshly. "Even when I was ill most mornings from this pregnancy I never stayed a full day within my room."

Margaret sighed. It was good someone was worried about her, comforting that some people still loved her. She cleared her throat to announce her entrance into the dining room, and then joined the women of her family for a big heart breakfast at Harley Street.

Both of their faces light up with both surprise and pleasure upon seeing her.

"Good morning, Aunt." Margaret leaned over and kissed her aunt on the cheek as she did every morning in which she was in residence at Harley Street.

"Oh, Margaret, thank goodness!" Edith bubbled. "I was worried you were so low in spirits you would still not emerge from you room today!"

Sally, Margaret's favorite maid, quickly entered the room behind her, a heaping plate of food in her hands. She set the plate in front of Margaret and bowed to Aunt Shaw before she left. Margaret reached forward and poured herself a cup of tea.

"I _am_ in low spirits, Edith, you are quite right," Margaret admitted. "I believe I must spend time with the two of you or else I may not shake this terrible feeling of sadness."

Edith studied her carefully. "I was afraid something horrible had happened, but you said your father was well and you look as fine as ever."

"Yes, Papa is quite well." Margaret confirmed. She took a sip of tea before continuing, "As I wrote just last week he has settled in perfectly at the boy's school. I never would have guessed him finding success as a headmaster, but he is doing so very well with it! I am quite proud of him."

Both women stared at her, waiting for her to continue. Instead, Margaret ignored their curiosity and turned her attention to the bacon and eggs on her plate. She had not eaten much since she arrived, but found her appetite had returned with vengeance as she dug in with gusto.

"I sent Barkley to mail your letters this morning, Margaret."

"Thank you, Aunt," Margaret said. "Papa will be glad to know I arrived safely." The breakfast was delicious. But she knew she could not eat too quickly or she would be sick, having eaten so little the past two days.

"Surly he will!" She clucked her tongue. "I am still quite concerned he allowed you to travel alone from Milton to London! What was he thinking?"

"He did not know. I left without telling him," Margaret admitted sheepishly.

There was a long pause in conversation, enabling Margaret to eat. She knew Aunt Shaw was getting ready to chastise her. That was her usual way, to take time to come up with a proper rebuke. Instead, she gentled her voice and said, "Forgive me, my dear, but I noticed none of your letters were addressed to Mr. Thornton."

"That is true," Margaret admitted with a curt nod.

"Is he the reason why you have come?" Edith asked quietly, a look of deep concern etched on her face. "Have you broken ties with him?"

Margaret nodded silently, her eyes now glued to her plate.

Margaret's bravado had disappeared the minute she boarded the train from Milton to London, Friday afternoon. She had tried so very hard to stay angry with John, but that anger, although it remained, was outshadowed by overwhelming sadness and loss. John had become her best friend, her love, her life, and moving ahead without him was inconceivable.

Inconceivable!

"He stepped away or you did?" Edith prodded gently.

Margaret wiped the corners of her mouth slowly, trying to calm her emotions. She set down the napkin and took a sip of tea before answering. It would not do to cry anymore. Two full days had been plenty, especially when John was likely hardly noticing her absence.

"He did," Margaret said sadly. She turned to her Aunt. "I should have listened to you in May when you said tradesmen have only one thing in their mind- making money and improving their business. I was wrong to think he was a different type of man, a true gentleman."

No true gentleman would have sent her a letter to end a courtship. They would have come to her, stated their case, and then left. That might have been harder, she admitted, but then she could have seen his face once last time.

"But, he loved you, Margaret!" Edith insisted.

"Yes, I believe he did." She chuckled without humor. "However, he proved he loved his mill more."

"I do not understand what you mean, my dear," her aunt said, with a deep frown.

"The mills at Milton have shut down at present. All the workers are withholding their labor. To stay in business, Mr. Thornton was forced to choose between money and me. As I am no great heiress, he chose someone who is."

"Oh, my, Margaret, I am so very sorry." Edith stood as quickly as she could with her extended belly, and waddled over to Margaret's chair and gave her a tight hug. "I am pleased you chose to come home."

 _Home._ That was something Margaret had considered over the past few days as she holed up in her old room on Harley Street. She really did not feel she had a home anymore, not a true home. Milton was to be her final stop, her permanent residence with John. Helstone could no longer be her home, no one she cared about remained there, and London? Margaret supposed that London was as close to a home as she had anymore.

Margaret hugged her cousin as tight as she could without harming Edith's wide belly. She gently placed her hand on Edith stomach and smiled in amazement of the hardness of her tummy. To think there was a small living, being inside of her! What a miracle.

"You look beautiful, Edith." Margaret continued when her cousin frowned, "Truly! You are glowing!"

"I feel huge as the elephants we saw at the Great Exhibition." She moved back to her seat on the other side of the table. "That reminds me. The captain and I are going back to the exhibition tomorrow for one final tour. Wednesday will be the closing, and while I believe it will be as impressive as the opening was reported to be, I do not believe I could handle the crowd and excitement in my condition. You should come with us. Surely you were not able to see all of it during your visits. I know I did not, and I went back three times after you left for Milton!"

Margaret was nervous about going into public, anxious to be away from the safety net of Aunt Shaw's home, but she also knew she could not hide for the rest of her life. The exhibition had been so marvelous and although both times she had attended in May had been with John, she would very much enjoy going to the Crystal Palace once more, before it disappeared forever!

"Three times! How you must have enjoyed yourself," Margaret said. "Yes, I will go tomorrow. I read a piece written about some of the exhibits in a Manchester paper that Papa bought. I do not believe I saw most of the American exhibit, some must have come later?"

"It did, yes," Edith confirmed.

"I understand some American Indian relics have been delivered and displayed now. I would enjoy seeing the clothing and jewelry, just to see how different it is from what we wear."

"And guns, Margaret! Hundreds of guns from the Colt Company have arrived, too. I do not know much about guns, but the captain and Henry were quite impressed by them."

Men would be, Margaret supposed.

"Mathew Brady now has his pictures on display," Margaret said. "I understand his pictures are an improvement upon the daguerreotype that were already on display in May."

"Then we shall see them!" Edith agreed.

"Yes. I would like that very much." It would distract her from her troubles, at least for a little while.

Margaret picked up her fork again and ate a bit more, all too aware her aunt and Edith were making faces at each other. Aunt Shaw would not bring the matter up again, once the woman cleared the air she was done with a topic. And, truly, Aunt Shaw was done with John Thornton even before Margaret had left London.

Later that evening, Margaret was reading in her bed before turning out her lamp for the night. Edith came in, under the pretense of saying goodnight and ended up plopping next to Margaret on her huge four-poster bed. Margaret set aside her book and turned on her side, resting her head on her folded arm. Poor Edith looked so large and uncomfortable in her nightdress, but Margaret would never say it.

Edith took Margaret's hand and squeezed. "Are you very, very sad Margie?"

Edith had not called her that in so long, Margaret felt herself tearing up. She nodded, too choked up to answer.

"Is there no hope?" she whispered.

Margaret swallowed and sniffed away her tears. "No, I do not believe so." She wiped her wet eyes with edge of her sheet. "I love him so dearly," Margaret moaned. "I have never felt such strong emotion toward anyone. There was nothing lacking in him."

Edith snorted. "No man is perfect, cousin. Not even my Sholto."

Captain Lennox was a very good man, and Margaret had never heard her cousin utter a negative thing about him. If anything, she spoke too kindly of him, too often. Edith accepted the captain's faults, just as Margaret had accepted John's. Until now. This might be unforgivable. Not that he would ever ask for forgiveness. He had what he wanted, money for his mill and a pretty, wealthy heiress on his arm. _Good for the bloody bastard!_

"Oh, Margaret feel!" Edith grabbed Margaret's hand and placed it on her distended belly.

Something wonderful happened, so scary Margaret pulled her hand away.

Edith giggled. "He's moving. I believe when I lay down especially he needs more room so he wiggles a bit to get comfortable." Edith placed Margaret's hand in the same spot once again. "You must experience this."

Margaret allowed her hand to remain in place and giggled a little as the baby kicked and twisted. "I've been helping at a foundling home in Milton."

"Yes, you wrote that," Edith said.

"There are two children, a brother and sister that have particularly touched my heart. Kenneth is a just a wee baby, seven months old. His sister Lily," Margaret chuckled thinking of her, "loves to twirl and dance. She is such a happy child. She has taken a liking to me, too."

"I am so excited to meet this baby, Margaret!" Edith struggled to sit up. "I think Sholto is rather anxious about the whole situation."

"I am anxious as well, Edith. What a change it will be! I cannot imagine Aunt Shaw as a grandmother. What shall your child call her? Nana? Granny?" Margaret laughed.

Edith rolled her eyes. "You think of the oddest things! I am quite certain she will simply be _Grandmother Shaw_."

"How droll." Margaret sighed and closed her eyes.

"Will you stay here?" Edith asked quietly. "In London?"

"I cannot," Margaret said. "I promised Papa when we moved to Milton I would stay there with him. He is not at all strong, Edith, you saw that when he was here in May, before the move north. His job at the boy's school has done wonders for him."

Edith nodded her head, her blonde strands loose about her shoulders. "Mama said mourning is difficult. She expects it will be some time before he is feeling like himself."

Edith was young when her father died, and Margaret could hardly remember the man. Margaret began coming more often after Commodore Shaw died, and she could not remember how Mrs. Shaw dealt with the loss of her husband. Margaret's father was becoming stronger each day. She could see the improvement in his mood. She even caught him whistling again, something she had not heard in many years.

"I wish you would consider staying." It came out as a soft while. "It would be lovely to have you close. I miss you so dearly."

"And I miss you," Margaret admitted. "For now, my home must be in Milton with Papa. In time, he may become tired and bored with this occupation and we could move back here." She shrugged.

"You speak as if you will be Uncle Hale's companion for all eternity. What of _your_ life, cousin? You _must_ marry and have children to love. As fond as you are of Kenneth and Lily, think how much greater your love will be for your own children!"

Margaret moaned. She wanted to marry _John_ , and could not even imagine meeting anyone else who could make her feel as complete as he did. How could she? He had become her everything.

"What am I saying?" Edith shook her head. "I am so foolish, Margaret, forgive me. Of course you are not thinking of marriage just now. Oh, my dear!" Her face fell as she looked at Margaret.

"You mean well," Margaret told her. "It is simply too soon to think of such things."

"Of course, of course." Edith crawled off the bed and slowly stood. "Sholto will come looking for me if I do not return." She smiled. "I love you, cousin. Each day will surely get easier and tomorrow we will see some amazing sights!"

Margaret nodded silently. "It will be a fine day."

John made it home from the office in time for his mother's evening bible reading. Half-passed nine each night, she read to the servants and asked that both John and Fanny attend as well. It was her way of guiding the servants toward God, she claimed. His mother was a stickler for propriety at all times, and this was her expectation for the men and women that worked in the mill house.

Thirty minutes later, at the stroke of ten, she dismissed her employees and Fanny quickly flounced away. John remained behind. His heart was heavy and his mother was the only one he could speak to about his very private worries.

John stood up and closed the door to her sitting room and then returned to a chair very close to her. He would not want the servants to hear what he had to say. Despite his mother's efforts to prevent gossiping, the maids were notoriously loose-lipped.

"Well?" she asked expectantly. Her face was open, soft, allowing him extra courage to bring up his subject.

He swallowed. "Mother, I have made a gross error in judgement."

"With what?"

"My business with Margaret," he stated bluntly.

"Oh."

"I should not have set her aside for anything," he admitted. "I led her to believe we were to marry and then took the coward's way out and broke ties with her. It was wrong for many reasons."

"No, I must disagree. You did the right thing, my son. There was no alternative choice. The mill feeds you, and so many in Milton! Had you chosen the girl, you would not have had money to bring the mills back to life!"

He took a deep breath and pondered how to properly express his feelings.

Slowly, he began, "Margaret feeds my heart and soul, Mother. She is my world. Without her, the mill has no appeal, in truth, nothing does." He suddenly stood and stalked to the window, overlooking the dark, vacant courtyard of Marlborough Mills.

"Do not be foolish!" she barked. "You have never been an emotional, sentimental sort of a man. You proceed through life with logic and rational judgement. This is not like you at all, John. You must be sensible!"

"That was before." He turned back to her. "I thought I could have both my mill and Margaret, in time. I was going to spend enough time with Miss Latimer to satisfy her father, and once I could repay the debt I would go to Margaret and explain what I had done. She would forgive me, and everything would be perfect. That was my logical plan, Mother, and clearly it was asinine."

"You do not like Miss Latimer?"

Lord, what a foolish question.

"She is a fine girl, but she is not Margaret. She could _never_ be my Margaret. I cannot place in words how fully enthralled I am with Margaret. It was if… as if my whole world lightened when she appeared in my life and I have been now driven into a cesspool of darkness."

She snorted. "She's just a girl!"

"Was father _just a man_ to you?" he retorted.

"No."

"Then you can understand how I feel?"

She huffed. "Regardless of your feelings, as intense as they may be, you still made the correct choice to focus on strengthening the mill."

"I'm afraid I disagree." He leaned against the edge of the fireplace. "I am going to London, Mother."

"London?" She frowned. "But why?"

"Margaret has left Milton, and I believe she is at her Aunt Shaw's home. I am going to be honest with her as I should have at the outset and hope she will forgive me."

"And then what will you do?" It was her turn to stand abruptly. "How will that help the mill? Will it not shut it down?" She crossed her arms against her chest, drawing her black shawl tighter around her shoulders. "What will you do when Latimer calls in that latest loan?"

He swallowed. "I have sufficient funds to pay off the loan from the wheel I borrowed last year. That I could satisfy easily. I have sufficient funds to pay next quarter's rent on the mill, and pay for the hands for the next three weeks. There will be some left over, and if I receive payment quickly for the three shipments due this week, there should be no issue. Repayment of this last loan will be done without concern."

"And if you do not receive those payments?"

"It will be quite close," he said honestly. "My fear is Latimer will somehow force my mill to shut down. In the loan documents, it states clearly that he must give me a fortnight notice, which I believe would be sufficient time for collection of these payments, and all should be well."

Moments of silence dragged as they stared at one another. Two stubborn, bull-headed people, looking at the world from different angles.

"Is she worth further uncertainty?" she finally asked.

"Mother, she is worth _everything_ to me." He stepped closer and placed his hands on her narrow shoulders. "Do not fear, for I will always see to your needs."

"I know you'll do me right," she said. "You always have." She cupped his cheek. "Can you wait a bit longer? Can you see if the payments come in before you go fetch her?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes, I could, Mother, but to do so would cause me extra pain. I have never placed my personal interests first, not once in the whole of my life. When I was young you and Fanny were all I considered. As I rose at the Mill, it remained the two of you and the success of the mill. That has never changed. However, now I simply must." He shook his head. "I must put my happiness ahead of the mill. For so long the mill was all I believed I needed, yet once I met Margaret, I knew how unfulfilled my life was."

She withdrew from him, crossing her arms again. "You have been so successful, do not ever say you had an unfulfilled life."

"Success in business does not equate to my personal happiness," he stated. "I am successful but at the moment, I am not happy."

"And you believe all it will take to bring you happiness is bringing Margaret home?" She sounded incredulous, but he knew it was true.

"By making her my wife, bringing her into our home and creating a life with her, including my work at Marlborough Mills, will bring me joy."

Children, building a new community for his workers, improving Milton, expanding the mill further and holding her hand each night as they fell asleep. That was what would bring John complete and utter happiness.

"You must do what you feel you must do." She shook her head, as if she felt defeated. "If you change direction now, I worry you will regret it. But, if you feel you must have her…" She shook her head again and sighed. "You are right when you say you have never placed your needs ahead of anyone else's. Perhaps you are correct, that it is time that you do so."

"You support my decision?" he asked with slight hesitation. The people of the mill called her _"the dragon"_ for a reason.

"Do you need my support?" she responded with a surprised look upon her face.

"No." He shook his head. "But, I should like to have it, just the same."

"I want you to be happy, John. I want the mill to be stable. If somehow this will happen if you wed Margaret, then yes, I shall give you my support."

"Thank you."

"When will you go?"

"Once the three orders have been completed and placed on the train for shipment," John answered. "I suppose that might be Friday."

"You will return immediately?"

"I cannot answer that at present. It is my hope, yes. Sunday, likely."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Welcome Margaret into this house, make her feel a part of the family," he suggested.

She chuckled. "I can see where your head is. I meant how can I help at the mill?"

"Ah." He nodded. "Please just do as you always do. Oversee the looms and make certain all is running smoothly." He stepped forward and hugged her, something he rarely did. "You are the finest partner I could have ever asked for, Mother, and will always be very important to me, regardless of how the world turns."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The mid-morning sun streamed through the massive glass ceiling and walls of the Crystal Palace in Hyde Park. The crowd was less than Margaret had expected, being only one day from the close of the spectacular Great Exhibition. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert had brought something remarkable and historic to Great Britain, something exceptional and distinctive that certainly set London apart from all other power cities across the world. Margaret felt honored to have shared in such an achievement, one that would be hard to duplicate or improve upon by others in the future. Surely the bigger world centers would try in time. It was not inconceivable that Paris, New York, perhaps even Istanbul or Belin would host a future exhibition for the world to visit.

Henry had joined them on their excursion. Margaret had expected he would, even though his name was not mentioned when plans had been finalized the day before. He seemed to always be around, and Margaret did truly enjoy his company when he was not trying hard to make her love him. Henry had arrived for breakfast that morning, just as Edith was joining them. Mornings were difficult for her, but she was ready to soldier on for the day… or at least until lunch. Aunt Shaw had declined their invitations to join them; she had been there three times already and enough was enough.

The central gathering place at the Crystal palace, the enormous water fountain, was where Henry and the captain stood waiting for Edith and her. Edith had needed a visit to the ladies room before venturing further into the exhibition. Margaret was learning far too much about being with child, but was glad she was there to help Edith see to her needs. She looked so uncomfortable and… large. Her legs were swollen and only in the morning could she wear her normal sized shoes. Yet, despite the challenges she faced, she glowed unlike Margaret had ever seen her before. And Edith was happy… when she wasn't tearful and crying and scared.

"Are you well?" the captain asked Edith when they joined the gentlemen. He always showed such genuine concern for Edith and her needs, it made Margaret love him even more.

"I am," Edith answered. "Shall we be off? Margaret wants to go to the American display. _I_ want to see the Russian display."

"I would not mind seeing that wonderful Colt Revolver display again," Henry admitted with a wry grin.

"As I said long ago, Henry, you should have joined the army. Had you done so, you could have played with guns all day if you wished," Captain Lennox told his bother with a teasing chuckle.

"The problem with that idea was the possibility that a gun might well be pointed _at_ me at some point." Henry laughed. " _That_ possibility had little attraction for me."

Both ladies laughed.

"You chose the perfect profession, Henry," Edith told him. She rested her pale hand on his shoulder. "My captain always wanted to be a soldier." She moved to wind her hand through the crook of her husband's arm. "You, however, are a fine scholar and studying the law codes and such is perfect for you."

Edith was right. The vision of Henry wearing a uniform and carrying a pistol was inconsistent with his personality. Margaret could not say how skilled of an attorney he was, they never spoke of his work, but a soldier's life did not seem to fit his ability set.

"I shall tarry off and stare hopelessly at the weapons I shall never own." Henry offered Margaret his arm. "Margaret, allow me to drop you off at the Mathew Brady photography displays on the way. They are in the same room."

"Shall we meet back here at noon for luncheon?" Edith suggested.

"That is a fine idea," Margaret agreed, before she and Henry moved away from the fantastical fountain and entered the moving sea of people headed in various directions.

"Not much has changed since you were last in attendance, Margaret," Henry said in a raised voice.

He was walking a respectable distance from her, but close enough to be heard over the din of the crowd. It would be so easy, she realized, to settle for his kindness and friendship as enough in a marriage. _Settle._ That was such a cruel word because he was such a fine man, yet she had been spoiled. John had taught her true love. Margaret was not willing to marry feeling anything for her husband less than the most deep, abiding love. Toward Henry, she would never feel such emotion, and he deserved far more than a watered down love.

"It appears much the same," she finally agreed. The only things missing from her last visits were John and the excited butterflies she had felt whenever he was near.

"There is such an… energy here I have never experienced elsewhere. An excitement." Henry shifted slightly. "I feel the vitality of London as I walk these halls."

She smiled at him. He was a quiet man, but a great observer of people and their behaviors. "I wonder what Brits will be anticipating next? I cannot fathom anything even remotely this exciting."

Henry chuckled. "Another of Victoria's children perhaps?" He laughed again.

Margaret's eyes widened. "Really? Do you think she will have more? Prince Arthur is the _seventh_. Perhaps that is a sufficient number to sustain the line?" She laughed. That was far more than the heir and a spare most monarchs hoped for.

"Quite," Henry agreed.

Seven children! Her Royal Highness had a great deal of help raising the little princes and princesses, but it was the actual act of carrying the child and delivery that amazed Margaret. Seven children! As much as Edith whined, she might well be done after her first.

Henry and Margaret continued to sort through the traffic line of people, dodging a few pedestrians that seemed more concerned with the displays than where they were walking, or who they were bumping into.

"We are having a formal supper this evening for my birthday Henry," Margaret told him. "I hope you will consider joining us?"

"Thank you." He tipped his head politely. "I would be pleased to celebrate your birthday with you. Although, it's tomorrow is it not?" He frowned as if considering what day it was.

"Yes!" She chuckled. "Aunt has an engagement scheduled for tomorrow evening."

Aunt Shaw _never_ cancelled any engagements. She found it rude and uncouth to do so. The supper she would have for Margaret tonight would be delicious, likely all of Margaret's favorite dishes and she was looking forward to the evening.

They were forced to stop, too many people headed to the same place at the same time. The American display was well within sight, but it seemed everyone was headed that same direction and the back-up held them stuck in place. She sighed, but took the opportunity to study her fellow attendees.

It was different than the last time she had attended the exhibition. Today, most of the people were the well-heeled of society, the wealthier set who could afford to spare a day from work, or who had no job to complete. Margaret could not help but think John would likely not be able to attend on any given Tuesday, as Henry was. Last time there had been a mix of people, both rich and poor, but today it was heavily tilted toward members of the finest families.

She leaned against the wall, trying to avoid the sudden crush of people in the small space. Henry, ever the gentleman, stood over her, serving as an extra wall, and absorbing the bumps and presses of the people walking by.

"I was quite surprised when Edith said you were in town," Henry spoke quietly, near her ear. "She and my brother met me for lunch after services on Sunday."

Margaret nodded. "This has been an unexpected visit."

She did not wish to explain further, believing Edith had likely spilled the details—or what she _thought_ had happened— already. Margaret had not spoken about the situation in Milton until Monday morning, but as well as Edith knew her, Margaret was certain she figured out what had caused Margaret to flee Milton without warning.

"You have said that we will be friends," he began. "I shall respect your wishes, although I have made my feelings for you as obvious as I might without saying the precise words."

"Henry—"

"Wait," he interrupted, holding up his hand. "Please, allow me to finish."

He was not much taller than Margaret, they could look at each other virtually eye to eye, but she looked away, uncomfortable with such familiarity in a public venue. She nodded, while swallowing back the lump in her throat, worried what he was about to say next.

"I will respect your wishes. I will be your friend. Always." He smiled and looked almost handsome. "I will not pressure you for anything beyond that."

"Thank you," she said sincerely, with a feeling of great relief.

"However, if you need _anything_ from me, you must simply ask. I will also listen if you need someone to talk with, other than those you live with."

"I appreciate that." She took his hand. "You have always been a very good friend."

"And I shall continue to be." Another smile, but this time followed by a wink. "Let us move on, shall we?"

She allowed him to guide her effortlessly back into the throng of people, toward the American display. John's name may not have been spoken but it was clear as day that he hung between them. _He_ was what Henry would listen to her about, perhaps warn her about, just as her Aunt had done.

The narrow hallway opened up into a grand room which Margaret had not seen during her previous visits. There had been an American display, but nothing near this grand or full. She knew there had been issues getting the display items here from New York that they had run late, arriving in June, after she had moved to Milton with her father. The Manchester paper to which her father subscribed had been rather critical of America's display room, but the write-up piqued her interest enough to place the America room at the top of her list to visit.

As soon as they entered the gallery, Margaret spotted a large sign hanging on the right side of the room, introducing Mathew Brady and his _The Gallery of Illustrious Americans._ She walked forward intrigued by the images displayed. Photography was so new, so exciting and she secretly hoped one day to have an opportunity to sit for a portrait. She wished, too, that she had captured her mother's visage in such a way, to preserve the memories Margaret carried in her heart. The memory of her mother's features would surely fade in time, and she would never be able to adequately describe her mother to those who would come later.

"Margaret, would you mind if I stroll over to the revolvers?" Henry pointed to the direct opposite side of the room, where massive glass displays filled with weapons hung from the ceiling.

"Do go on," she said, waving him off, already focused on the photographs ahead of her.

She moved closer to the display, coming so close to the glass, she bumped the brim of her hat and had to take a step back. "Fascinating," she whispered to herself.

Amazed, she saw the faces of famous Americans she had only heard of, or read about. Former American presidents Andrew Jackson with his Hermitage in the background, Zachary Taylor and the late John Quincy Adams were in the forefront. Current president Millard Fillmore looked rather stern, but as a leader should. The images of Daniel Webster, the great orator, and many other people she had not heard of like William Hickling Prescott and Silas Warner looked back at her, so lifelike despite the lack of color in the picture. To her, Winfield Scott was the noblest, wearing his Army dress uniform with shoulders trimmed by large epaulettes. He looked younger than she would have expected.

The picture of John James Audubon was quite perfect, she thought. A natural landscape was behind him, with mountains in the distance and a river. She wondered what color his waistcoat might be and if the long sideburns he wore were perhaps his special symbol? She preferred men clean shaven and tidy, as the rest of the portraits seemed to depict.

Under each of the twenty-four portraits was a short biography which filled in the information for visitors unfamiliar with the gentlemen. All the pictures were of men, sadly, and none were smiling. Had they been instructed _not_ to smile? Perhaps their teeth were all rotten and missing? It would hardly do to be a prominent American man with teeth rotting in their head!

Reflected in the glass, behind her shoulder she saw the silhouette of all tall, slender man, sporting a tall hat upon his head. She twisted quickly, almost certain it was John. A whoosh escaped her lips when she realized it was _not_ him. Shaking suddenly, she swallowed hard and moved further away from the gentleman, who looked nothing like John, save his attire.

"Are you well, Miss?" he asked kindly. He was older, perhaps in his fifties and quite gray. "You look as if you have seen a ghost!"

"Forgive me," she whispered. Her hand covered her stomach as if that would be enough to calm herself. "I thought you were someone else."

He tipped his tall, black beaver hat and turned toward his female companion, guiding her away. He surely thought Margaret mad. What a foolish reaction just because a man was wearing a tall hat! She glanced around the room, looking for Henry. He was off to the side talking with a man Margaret did not recognize. She closed her eyes on a sigh and refocused on the incredible pictures, hoping reading the biographies would slow her rapid heartbeat. As hard as Margaret tried, John was never far from her mind. Because of that, it was really no surprise that every man in a tall, top hat brought him to mind.

She loved him. That was not something that would simply fade away with the snap of her fingers or in a matter of minutes or days. She missed him, wanted to share these marvelous pictures, the American Indian artifacts and the new huge agricultural reaper by Cyrus McCormick with him. She missed his smiles and his beautiful eyes.

With a groan, she moved on, looking for more to distract her thoughts from John Thornton. Margaret was not certain her mood soured by the thoughts of him or the disappointing display by the Americans. She knew there had been significant issues even getting the displays unloaded at the port, and that although some items had arrived on time, more came later. Those new items were what she was most interested in seeing today, but now it seemed almost like a waste of her time.

"Hello," Henry stopped next to her, startling her. "Do you like what you have seen thus far?"

She turned to face him with a frown. "I am not as pleased as I expected to be. The Indian exhibit and the Russian exhibits were so much fancier with far more variety," she admitted. "I thought to see more, I suppose? America was given one of the biggest display areas and it appears they have used only a fraction of what they were allotted."

Henry nodded. "I believe it was due to lack of funds. America may be the only government that did not fund the delivery of goods to England. Individuals had to pay the way across the sea, and once they got here… well there were not sufficient funds to even unload the ship!"

"Yes, I read that, too," Margaret agreed. "It was good of that American banker to pay the bill."

Margaret had wondered at the man's decision to do so, the cost had been nearly fifteen thousand, and repayment was not even guaranteed. Perhaps fame was all the gentleman, George Peabody, was seeking? Or maybe his heart was pure and the philanthropy genuine?

"If you have finished here, perhaps we could go upstairs to the north side and look at the musical instruments?" Henry suggested. "I think you might be more pleased with those."

She took one look back over her shoulder as Henry guided her from the American room, trying to remember all she saw so she could write her father that evening. Her father would have been so overwhelmed here at the Exhibition, but he _was_ interested in what Margaret saw; her experiences and observations of the foreign goods.

"Do you know, Miss Margaret, they have on display a piano that allows _four_ people to play at once?"

"Only four?" she teased. "I would _certainly_ like to see that."

"Not only that, Margaret," he continued, "but they somehow hauled it _upstairs_."

"I would have liked to have witnessed that feat!" She chuckled, imagining a dozen large men carrying the hulking piano up a flight of stairs. "Do lead the way, kind sir. I am all aflutter in anticipation."

Uncharacteristically, John was running late to collect Miss Latimer and attempt to arrive at the Lyceum Hall in time for the beginning of the concert. It would not due to enter late, as many often did. John did not care to draw undue attention to himself, and that was a sure way to do so. His attendance with Miss Latimer would be enough to fan the flames of gossip and tongues would continue to wag. But, he had no choice but to attend. He _had_ agreed on Sunday to fetch Miss Latimer and he would, despite the talk.

Before parting company on Sunday, John had again made it quite clear, in a gentle sort of way, to Miss Latimer that he had no romantic interest in her. She seemed to accept his admission, and even agreed to play the role of a woman being courted to satisfy her father. She confessed to John that she had suggested the idea to her father, but did not understand his full attachment to Margaret when doing so. He had accepted her explanation, which she had followed with a humble apology.

The butler opened the door as soon as John knocked and welcomed him inside. John removed his hat as he was shown to a small sitting room off the Latimer's main hall. The butler left him alone, and John was not certain whether he should sit or stand. He _did_ know that if they were not soon on their way they would definitely be tardy.

The Latimer's home was one of the finest John had entered in Milton. The only home truly more impressive was Adam Bell's townhouse where Margaret and her father stayed when they first arrived in Milton. The other mill masters had fine places, just as his own mill house, but nothing as exceptional as this.

"I am ready!" Miss Latimer breezed into the room, smiling. "I do apologize for having kept you waiting."

"We should be on our way," he told her. "You look well this evening, Miss Latimer."

"I thank you, John." She curtseyed and then led him toward the door where the butler stood sentry.

At some point, he stopped being bothered that she called him by his Christian name. Of all the things he had to worry about in life, how Ann Latimer referred to him was at the bottom of the list of concerns.

He helped Miss Latimer up into the carriage and closed the door behind him. They soon were headed to the Lyceum.

"What are we viewing this evening?" he asked. The mill had been so busy since restarting on Saturday, there had been no chance to even glance at a newspaper to see what was coming to town tonight.

"Why, the Circus of course!"

He sighed and bit back a curse. He _despised_ Circus performers. He never would have agreed to come this evening if he had known. Miss Latimer had no way of knowing the past trauma he had suffered while attending such an event. But now, evening imagining a Circus brought back some terrible memories from when he was a wee lad. When only three or four, a tiger at the Circus lunged at him and after wetting himself, his father dragged him home, embarrassed. _What a hideous memory._

"Is it just outside the Lyceum?" he asked, his voice tight. Perhaps if it were inside there would not be any animals to concern him.

"I have no idea, John." She snorted. "We shall see when we get there."

 _Oh God, and the clowns._ Nightmares had followed for weeks after that Circus visit, and the clowns were the absolute most terrifying part of each dream. How did anyone believe dressing up with odd wigs, gaudy make-up and loud colored clothing could be humorous? Children did not like clowns, and truth to be told, most adults did not, either.

If it were Margaret with him, he would share his story of humiliation and fear of animals and clowns, but not with Miss Latimer. If it were Margaret, he would turn the carriage the other direction and spend the evening reading with her instead. But, as it sadly was _not_ Margaret, he would bear the evening as best he could.

As darkness was falling, the Thornton carriage turned down Lyceum Court, and not surprisingly, huge tents were constructed, blocking much of the road. The carriage stopped and the driver called down that he could proceed no further.

"We are here, it seems," John replied, stating the obvious.

Once the carriage stopped, he stepped out and helped Miss Latimer down. There was not much of a crowd in the area. He would have thought more mill workers would enjoy such a spectacle. Of course they had not received pay in some time, which likely made funds for such frivolities rather scarce.

Large banners, proclaiming _Price and Powell_ were hung from the tents and on the ropes which were hung from tent to tent. He went to the admission booth and paid what he thought was a rather large sum for entry into the show. Miss Latimer was smiling and looked pleased with all she was seeing, so perhaps the price was worth it.

"Let us go in this tent first, John." She pulled him along, and not wishing to make a scene, he followed, rather like a dog on a leash.

How had he gotten himself into such a predicament? _Greed_ , that was how, and he fully deserved every punishment that the universe meted out to him… and then some.

He gently disentangled from her as they entered the big tent. A midget dressed in a fine evening suit greeted them at the opening, and said the jugglers and acrobat performance would begin in just five minutes. Miss Latimer clapped and suggested they find a seat before it began.

There were plenty of spots to choose from, so they went to the left of the tent. He did not wish to sit too close, for fear there might be animals he needed to avoid, so they climbed the stairs toward the top of the benches. He allowed her to enter the row and then sat on the end so he could stretch his legs if needed. He had done more walking and standing than usual that day at the mill, and his body was feeling it.

"Oh look John," she squealed pointing toward the center of the tent. "Monkeys!"

Sure enough, a group of monkeys were huddled in the middle of the ring. Another very short man held a harmonica against his mouth and began to make music, causing the little creatures to dance in a circle. John wondered how long it had taken the man to train them to do such a feat, but then he shook his head because in truth he did not care.

The crowd began to clap in rhythm and Miss Latimer was right in step with the rest of them. He tried, he really did, to enjoy himself, but it was not to be. She encouraged him, bumped into him laughing. When the crowd started singing a bawdy tune better heard in a pub, he began to pray for a swift end.

Suddenly, the little hairy monsters climbed out of the ring and wandered through the crowd carrying small cups. The little beggars jumped on each person and landed on their lap until a coin was placed in the cup and then they went away.

John's heart rate began to climb, he could even hear the pounding in his ears. Lord, how he feared these animals. He swallowed hard and quickly reached into his pocket for a coin to get rid of the varmint as quick as he might. Others laughed at the small monkey's antics, John did not. As the animal came closer… and then closer… John became increasingly nervous. His whole body tensed, and he gripped the edge of the bench, turning his knuckles white. Just at the _very_ moment the monkey was about to jump on his lap, the ring master whistled, and like magic, all the monkeys retreated back into the center ring, saving him from dealing with the animal.

"Oh no! The adorable fellow did not come to us! I wanted to feel his fur!" Miss Latimer pouted. Her face changed suddenly to a look of concern. "John are you well? You have gone white as a ghost and your face is rather… moist."

He swallowed. He _did_ feel rather ill. "Quite well," he lied. He took out his handkerchief and dabbed the moisture from his face.

He was glad to have chosen seats so far away from the center ring. Somehow he knew the animals would try to get to him. It was as if they sensed is fear and acted upon it to terrorize him. The stars were definitely punishing him.

The next performers were far less intimidating.

"Oh look!" Miss Latimer squealed. "Those little people are riding velocipedes from Paris! I would so love to ride one of those!"

 _Please don't ask me to take you down there to do it. Please don't ask me to take you down there to do it._

"It looks rather challenging," John said, hopefully discouraging any requests to try them out.

He studied the design of the contraption from a mechanical aspect; a riding machine with four wheels, steered with handles and run through foot power. It looked like a fine opportunity for exercise, but surely there could be a better way to run the machine. John decided he, too, wanted to see it closer, not to ride on it, but rather to improve upon it.

Soon, the riders left the center of the ring to claps and whistles from the crowd, followed quickly by a dozen or so jugglers twirling rings of fire while throwing balls at each other. Once the fire rings were extinguished without mishap, three of them lined up in a row against a crudely constructed wall in the center of the ring. About ten feet away, three other jugglers pulled knives from their pants and began to throw them toward the wall, missing their partners by just a hair or two. Once they ran through the whole line-up they switched spots so each man had their own chance at being cut by a knife.

The crowd seemed entranced by it. It made John uncomfortable.

Once they were through, the dreaded, obnoxiously dressed clowns arrived. They threw candy to the few children in the audience, and did some odd tumbling and awkward dance moves. He refused to look at the brightly dressed actors, for fear one might make eye-contact and pull him down to perform with them. That would likely never happen, but at this point, John could not be too cautious. He just hoped he could leave the memories here in the tent and not bring them home to dream about later.

Miss Latimer giggled and wiggled and clapped, completely satisfied with the performers. Scanning the crowd, it was rather obvious he was the odd man out, one of the few people _not_ enjoying the performance. He glanced surreptitiously at his pocket watch, curious how much more he would be forced to endure.

After the clowns' departure, the ringmaster wandered in, and declared the next act would be the final one for that tent. There were refreshments in the courtyard between tents, he said, and the acts in the blue tent would start at the top of the hour.

"Oh how wonderful!" Miss Latimer said. "I thought the acts were the same in both tents, but John we get to view all sorts of other performers!"

She grabbed his arm and squeezed hard, smiling wide and happier than he had ever seen her. Mr. Latimer would be pleased when John dropped her off later. She would have wonderful tales to tell her banker father at the breakfast table in the morning, perhaps good enough to satisfy him until John returned from London.

The acrobats were incredibly flexible. Their first stunt was to form a human pyramid and slowly roll down each level. How they accomplished the feat without breaking their neck, John could not say, but he was finally intrigued by something the Circus provided. As they continued tumbling and twirling and doing their routine for several more minutes, he became dizzy; their colorful skirts spinning and rotating bodies made his eyes cross. He rubbed his face and looked away with a shake of his head.

 _What in the bloody hell am I doing here?_

With wild waves and blowing kisses, the acrobats hastily exited the center ring, and again the ringmaster came to direct people onto the next tent. John waited for Miss Latimer to stand before he did. It was quite a relief that this performance was over. He could use some fresh air.

"That was marvelous," Miss Latimer gushed. "I do not know if I have ever seen anything so wonderful!"

"I am pleased you enjoyed it." That was a lie. He wished instead that she had hated it and wanted to go home.

Once they were out of the canvas covered arena, John took a deep breath to clear his head. It was a chilly October evening, just passed dusk. The gaslights were being lit as they stood below them, directing them to the refreshments booth and then, he supposed, onto the second tent.

"Would you like something to eat?" he offered.

"A drink, perhaps?" she answered.

"Very well, let us head that way."

He lifted his hand for her to go ahead of him toward the refreshment booth. There was a short line, and several people milling about, likely waiting as they were for the next performances. He reached the front of the line and ordered small cups of tea that cost easily three times too much.

John handed Miss Latimer her cup and stood aside, allowing those behind to place their order. Someone nearby called out his name, and he turned, unfamiliar with the voice. Thomas Willwright raised his hand once John saw him, waving for them to join him and his wife, Gertrude, where they stood.

He glanced at Miss Latimer weighing the damage in his mind if he joined Margaret's dear friend while escorting another woman. Did Mrs. Willwright know Margaret had left Milton? Had Margaret alerted Miss Gert to his defection? How would she react to Miss Latimer? He decided to chance it, for it would be rude to ignore his friend Thomas, and it was hard for John to imagine Mrs. Willwright would cause a scene in public.

"Let us go and say hello to the Willwrights, shall we?" John suggested. He allowed Miss Latimer to walk ahead of him as he knew she was familiar the couple.

"Willwright," John greeted his friend. He stuck out his hand and Thomas quickly shook it.

"How do you do?" Thomas asked. He nodded his head politely to Miss Latimer. "Miss Latimer."

"Very well." John smiled at Thomas and then to Miss Gert, not surprised to find the woman assessing him critically. "We missed you at the dinner last week." He looked between the two. "How is your father faring?"

"He has done remarkably well the past few days!" Thomas was a gregarious man. John had never seen him in a foul mood, and he had known him for many years. "Gert and I raced to Blackpool dreading the worst, but by Saturday he was already improving." Hi laugh was deep and hearty. "When we left yesterday he was getting on quite well. It seems he had a small stroke which has left his side weakened. With my mother's help, I believe he will do well."

"And how _do_ _you_ do, Mr. Thornton?" Miss Gert looked pointedly at Miss Latimer, with her eyebrows raised. A challenge, perhaps, for him to explain himself.

"I am quite well," he lied again.

Suddenly, the clouds opened up and torrents of rain dropped by bucket loads from the sky. Miss Latimer screamed and the four of them quickly rushed into the second, covered tent to escape the weather. How he became soaked so quickly, he could not say, but it was damn uncomfortable to be in a wet, woolen coat.

Miss Latimer might be giggling, but the weather simply soured John's mood even further.

"Why not sit with us, Thornton?" Thomas suggested. He took his hat off and banged the top, riding it of excess water. "Gert will not mind sharing my company tonight."

It happened that John found himself walking next to Mrs. Willwright. He needed to come up with a safe topic of conversation, or he would find himself in a bad spot with her.

"I would like to visit the foundling home again," he told her.

She studied him for a moment, perhaps judging his sincerity. "I am certain Miss Bea would be pleased to welcome you any time you should choose to visit," she said politely.

"Perhaps tomorrow?" he pressed.

She stopped walking. "Perhaps it _would_ be best you go tomorrow as I will _not_ be there." She tipped up her nose and hurried ahead to catch up with her husband.

John's jaw clenched tightly. He knew the woman would be angry for his behavior toward Margaret, and she had every right. Miss Gert was one of Margaret's closest friends in Milton, and surely she would be offended by his actions.

John and Miss Latimer sat behind the Willwrights on the long wooden benches. He and Thomas spoke quietly through much of the performance, which included more acrobats and individuals wearing horse costumes, prancing in the center ring.

The only enjoyable portion of this performance for John was the tightrope walking. The performer's balance was inconceivable to him. Having always been lanky and rather awkward in gait because of his long, skinny legs, he admired the balance of the performers. Their flamboyant costumes which surely affected their stability on the skinny rope, hung a dozen or more feet above the ground, and thrilled the crowd with the danger.

By the end of the performance, which was much shorter than the one in the first tent, the rain had thankfully abated. As they exited the tent, Thomas wished them a good evening and the couple turned to walk away.

Offended by Mrs. Willwright's deliberate snub, John called to her. "Mrs. Willwright?

She turned.

"Shall we meet as friends at the foundling home?" he asked, hopeful she would eventually forgive him. It would not do to be hated by Margaret's friends.

She paused before answering. "I suppose that shall depend wholly upon your future decisions." She looked meaningfully at Miss Latimer and then walked slowly away.

Once out of earshot, Thomas apologized to John. "She was quite upset to learn her friend was away to London. It is none of my business, of course, but that is why she is acting as she is."

"I understand," John said quietly. "I expect, in time, all will smooth out."

"I certainly hope so. I dislike living with an irritated wife. _Happy wife, happy life_." Thomas tipped his hat to Miss Latimer and winked at John before whistling away to join his wife, twirling his walking stick as he went.

John quickly guided Miss Latimer toward his awaiting carriage, hoping the rain would stay away long enough to get home.

"Oh, John, watch… Oh, my…"

Too late. He had not paid close attention to Miss Latimer's warning and ended up stepping right into a large, wet, still-warm pile of horse dung.

 _Bloody hell…_

Two hundred miles south of Milton, at Aunt Shaw's fine home at Harley Street, Margaret was ending her birthday celebration, far later in the evening than she had expected. Dinner had indeed been all her favorite foods, and while her dear father was not there to celebrate with her, she was surrounded by the women she cherished the most. Her mother's absence, however, was obvious and acutely painful. Maria Hale always came to London to celebrate Margaret's birthday, and it was often her _only_ trip to London each year. Last year she had not come because by October her health was already failing and by December, she was gone to be with the angels.

Edith had retired hours ago, exhausted from the walking at the exhibition. The captain, Henry, and Aunt Shaw had played cards with Margaret for hours, but now it was time to part ways.

As Margaret walked Henry to the door, he handed her a small package which had been sitting on the front table, under his tall hat. "Happy Birthday, my dear friend."

"Henry you should not have," she protested.

"It is nothing extraordinary." He waited for her to unwrap it fully before saying more.

"Oliver Twist!" It was a beautiful edition of the novel.

"Have you read it?" he asked. "When you spoke of life in the northern towns, the book came to mind."

"Yes, I did read it many years ago." She nodded. She caressed the front of the embossed cover. "Thank you, Henry. This is a perfect gift."

He nodded with a smile and popped his hat back on his head. "I hope you enjoy your very special day tomorrow. Twenty-one is a rather important year." He turned to go. At the open door he looked back. "Good night."

"Thank you for coming. Good night," she replied quietly.

She watched him walk down the main steps at the house in Harley Street, and closed the door as soon as he climbed up in his carriage. She leaned against the closed door for several minutes before pushing away and climbing the stairs to her bed chamber, clutching the book against her breast.

Becky, her favorite maid, was waiting for her in her bedroom. She quickly helped Margaret out of her heavy clothes and into her nightgown. Once in her cotton gown, Margaret dismissed the maid and continued her nightly routine, removing the dozens of pins and fasteners from her hair and brushing out the curls until they were smooth.

She crawled up on her bed and picked up the Oliver Twist book to examine it closer. Henry had written a nice inscription inside:

 _To my friend Margaret:_

He had underlined the word _friend_ twice. Apparently what she said to him had suck in.

 _May you enjoy a blessed twenty-first year. I am pleased you chose to_

 _spend part of your very special day with me._

 _Enjoy this story._

He ended with his signature and her birthdate.

When Margaret first moved to Milton, she had written to Edith about the poverty she witnessed in Princeton. Surely that was what triggered Henry's idea to choose this book for her. Margaret much preferred love stories to the sad reality which comes from true life. Had he found a nice copy of Austen or even Bronte, it would have fit Margaret far better. She frowned, curious if Henry really even knew what sort of literature she even preferred. She shook her head with a sigh, angry with herself for being so critical. His thoughtfulness meant the world to her.

Aunt Shaw and Edith had mailed her gifts to Milton, assuming Margaret would be there with her father. They said that when Margaret returned home to him, she would enjoy the surprise. Margaret liked surprises, provided they were _good_ surprises. A letter written by the man she loved breaking things off was a very _bad_ surprise, one she hoped to never live through again.

She flopped backwards against the pillows and sighed. Why could she not simply fall in love with Henry and let John go? How much easier that would be on her heart!


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Margaret took a moment to fasten an unruly curl at the side of her jaw, cursing quietly at the length of time it was taking her to prepare for her evening. It was Thursday, and Aunt had _implored_ , Margaret to join her at Lord Peregrine's home for dinner. Typically she would have attended with Edith, but given Cousin Edith's current condition, Margaret agreed to stand in. Two formal dinners within seven days was rather uncommon for Margaret, who far preferred quiet evenings at home, but for her aunt, who had done so much for her, she could hardly refuse.

Having left Milton in such a hurry, without a proper trunk, Margaret had relied on the older clothing she had left at Harley Street, and anything Edith had in her wardrobe which might fit. Tonight, Margaret was dressed in the gown she had worn for one of Edith's many wedding parties two years earlier. Becky, her maid, had added some fresh, frilly lace and modified the bodice to look a bit more modern. It was a beautiful gown that fit Margaret very well, and it would do perfectly for the Peregrine's dinner.

Lady Peregrine had attended finishing school with both Aunt Shaw and Margaret's mother, but the ladies had been friends long before their time together in at school, growing up in the same circle of society. When younger, Margaret and Edith had spent many afternoons in Lady Peregrine's parlor, working on needlework. The kind countess was quite skilled in the art of the needle and more than happy to share her skills with the girls. Lady Peregrine was blessed with four boys, who had no interest in learning to stitch, thus she was pleased to share her talents with other young ladies and Margaret and Edith both enjoyed their time with the affectionate woman.

A smiling Edith was waiting for Margaret at the bottom of the staircase.

"How fine you look!" Edith laughed. "Do twirl."

When Margaret stepped off the final stair, she did as her cousin requested, giggling as she spun. Unbidden, little Lily from the foundling home popped in her mind, but she quickly shook the image off, unwilling to allow thoughts of Milton to color her experiences that evening. She had not seen Lady Peregrine in many years and was excited to become reacquainted.

"Thank you, Edith." Margaret took the wrap Becky held out for her and placed it on her shoulders. She chose not to wear a hat tonight, Aunt Shaw's outlandish one would be plenty enough for both of them.

"Now Margaret, if Lady Peregrine has those marvelous berry tarts, be certain to eat them." Edith placed her hands on Margaret's shoulders. "And, if she should happen to offer you some to bring home with you, I would not refuse them."

"Oh Edith!" Margaret laughed. "I wish she would share the recipe but she always refused."

Aunt Shaw breezed into the foyer, ready to depart. "Let us be on our way, Margaret."

Margaret nodded, and quickly kissed her cousin's cheek, wishing Edith a pleasant evening with her husband before leaving in the awaiting carriage with Aunt Shaw.

"I am pleased you consented to come with me, Margaret," her aunt said.

The carriage rolled slowly through the finest area of London. Its gentle sway was sufficient to calm Margaret's nerves. The uncertainty of who she would meet that evening was disconcerting. She truly was in no state to meet new people. Aunt Shaw had assured Margaret she would know everyone at the dinner party, although as with Lady Peregrine, she had not seen them in many years.

"Lady Peregrine has always been one of my favorite people." She often thought of the countess, especially when she pulled out her threads and supplies to begin a new stitchery.

"Yes. I enjoy her as well." Aunt paused. "Going out in society again will be good for you."

Margaret was not sure that was true, but she would not argue with her aunt. In truth, she would have enjoyed another day as she had yesterday, her birthday. She had read her new book, worked on the sampler she was making for Edith's baby, walked out when the sun peeked through the clouds, and then lounged about with not a worry in the world.

"I wish the carriage would move a bit quicker. I fear we may arrive late." Aunt said.

The Peregrines lived in Mayfair, a short distance from Harley Street, but equally fashionable.

"Traffic must be exceptionally heavy. I am certain Clark is moving us along as fast as he can." Margaret commented, looking out the window at all the lovely homes they passed, trying to remain positive.

Aunt clucked her tongue and then a few minutes later changed their topic of discussion. "You received some letters today."

Although Margaret was certain her aunt had scanned the handwriting on the letters before Margaret even had a chance to see them, she chose to explain their origin. "Papa wrote for my birthday. It was dated Monday, so I was rather surprised how long it took to arrive. My new friend Gertrude Willwright wrote to share a funny story from the foundling home where she and I help."

"Ah yes… the founding house." Aunt Shaw twisted her lips. "Does your time spent there bring you pleasure?"

"It does," Margaret quickly agreed. "The children are quite sweet and friendly, and so very happy despite their circumstances. It makes me humble to see them so happy with so little."

"Tell me the truth. Is it as awful as the workhouses I have heard of?"

"No, Aunt, not this home. That had been my fear, when I first went to help. Miss Bea manages the home well, and does not require any of the children to work. Once they reach an age, she sends them to apprentice at the mills, but by then she has taught them to read and do sums."

"It is good of you to help the less fortunate, but do not allow that to prevent you from interacting with the better people of Milton." Aunt Shaw punctuated her words with her finger, pointing directly at Margaret.

She thought back to the snubs she had felt at the Mill Masters dinner, where the _better people of Milton_ congregated. As far as Margaret was concerned the poor of Milton like Bessie Higgins and outsiders like Miss Gert were the only kind of friends she needed to be happy.

"Thank you, Aunt, I shall remember your words."

Without a relationship with John Thornton, the likelihood of associating with the _better society_ of Milton was rather slim. Margaret could accept that. It would allow her to focus her love and attention on her father, and those in need of help.

No matter how hard Margaret tried to focus on what was to come, she kept thinking about Milton. Perhaps it was the information within the third letter she had received that morning, the letter from Fanny Thornton that bothered Margaret the most. It had not been a real letter, but rather an invitation to her wedding scheduled a fortnight Sunday. The only personalized portion of the letter was Fanny encouraging Margaret to attend with her father, because now that Ann Latimer and John were courting, Margaret would not have a partner. Mrs. Thornton was very conscious of even numbers at her table, Fanny reminded her, and Margaret would need a partner if she decided to attend.

When she had left Milton, Margaret knew John's plan was to seek the attentions of Miss Latimer. His final letter to Margaret had said as much. So, while the news was hardly a surprise, it still felt like a dagger pierced her heart open again. Margaret was hardly healed from the loss of John. Fanny's note only reopened the wound for even more bleeding.

"Here we are," Aunt Shaw said. "You look very fine this evening, my dear. Becky did wonders to that dress."

"She did," Margaret readily agreed. Margaret glanced out the window at the Peregrine home, fully lit and welcoming for their guests.

As soon as the carriage stalled to a halt, they stepped out to join the two other couples who arrived in a carriage just ahead of them. At the door, Aunt Shaw visited with the others; people Margaret recognized but could not immediately name, as they all awaited entry into the brick, two-story home.

Lord Peregrine answered the door himself. Always bubbly and cheerful, he welcomed his guests inside, kissing each lady and shaking the hands of his male.

"Why, Miss Margaret Hale! How you have grown!" He pulled her close and avidly kissed both of her cheeks. "We have not seen you in years, dear girl! Years!"

"Hello, Lord Peregrine." She laughed, slightly embarrassed by the almost aggressive greeting from him. "Thank you for having me this evening."

"Of course, of course! Come in." He shut the door behind them.

Lady Peregrine was near the door of her drawing room, greeting their guests. When she saw Margaret, her whole face lit up. "Anna, you have brought our Margaret to see me!"

Margaret stepped forward and was enveloped in a lovely, tight hug. "Lady Peregrine, I thank you for having me."

"It has been far too long since we have met, my dear." She pulled away and closely studied Margaret's face, while holding her hands. "Do you continue your stitching?"

Margaret laughed. The woman was a bit obsessed with needlework. "I do." She nodded. "In fact, I am working on a lovely sampler for my Cousin Edith."

"I would love to see it." Lady Peregrine backed away and led her guests into the drawing room where others were already gathered.

She threaded Margaret's hand through her arm and led her to where two gentlemen were talking at the fireplace. "Two of the boys are home. It has been quite some time since you have seen them, thus I must reacquaint you."

"Thank you."

About five feet from the fireplace, Lady Peregrine called out, "Theodore, George, look who has paid us a visit."

The two gentlemen, both tall and handsome turned to see her. She had played with them when they were all much younger. As Margaret recalled, Theodore was quite fond of the outdoors and enjoyed a tough game of hide and seek. George, in contrast, preferred a tough game of chess and a good book. That was a decade ago, though, and surely they had changed as much as she had.

"Do you no recognize her?" Lady Peregrine asked with a wide smile on her face. "It is little Margaret Hale!"

Theodore's eyes widened, and both men moved closer to them, away from the fireplace.

"Mother! She is hardly a _little girl_ anymore." Theodore's voice had deepened, of course over the years, into a smooth, deep baritone. "Miss Hale," he bowed "how lovely it is to see you again!"

"And you, my lord." She curtseyed.

Theodore, the eldest son of Lord and Lady Peregrine, held the title of Viscount Sounderson. Of course, when they were little, titles were rather irrelevant. Now, to Margaret, they still were, but _Society_ in general did not concur.

He had become a tall, handsome man. His light hair had darkened in time, but his eyes were still the color of rich dirt. He must be close to eight and twenty now, but he still had a bit of a baby look to his face.

"Come now, Margie, we have been acquainted far too long for you to be so formal!" Theodore said. "You remember George?"

"Yes, of course." She tipped her head.

"Pleasure to see you again, Miss Hale." George waved her toward a grouping of chairs not far from the fireplace. "Let us take a seat and visit before dinner?"

Margaret saw her aunt's beaming aunt smile and shook her head with a wry grin. The lady was always attempting a match. Knowing John Thornton and Henry Lennox were no longer on Margaret's list gave Aunt Shaw incentive to find someone else. Sons of an earl would certainly be quite acceptable in her aunt's mind.

"Are you in town for a short visit, or is this your usual time with Mrs. Shaw?" Theodore asked.

A maid with wine stopped by them, and without hesitation, Margaret took a glass.

"I am just visiting," she answered.

"Where was that lovely town you spoke of in the south? The place where your parents live?" Theodore asked.

He was a truly handsome man. Perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect teeth. For a moment Margaret was tongue-tied by his glorious smile. "Helstone."

"Yes, of course!" Theodore reminded Margaret of a younger version of the flamboyant Mr. Bell.

"And your father?" George chimed in. "Is he still vicar there?"

Margaret took a long sip of wine before answering. "No. We have moved to Milton."

"Milton? The town in the north?" George asked. He frowned and sat forward on the sofa. "Why that must have been quite a change for you."

"Have you been there?" she asked George.

"I have not," he stated, rather affronted by the very idea. "Nor would I wish to be. Is it not a manufacturing town?"

She nodded. She was not a drinker as a rule, but decided perhaps to throw a bit of caution to the wind. The wine was quite delicious.

Theodore leaned forward and in a rather dark, theatrical tone stated, "I understand the skies and building are blackened by dirty soot and the canals emit such a horrid stench people can only breathe through their handkerchiefs."

She had to giggle because of his dramatic pose. "While the skies are not as fresh and pure as Helstone, they are not so bad as to need help to breathe."

"But what of the canals and streets?" George asked. "Are they not filthy?

Even as a child, George had been far more serious than Theodore. They were but perhaps three years apart in age, but George, the younger of the two, was far more grounded and mature than Theodore.

"Certain areas of town are worse than others, just as here in London. Father and I live in a section away from the mills, where there are trees and fields, and no canal nearby to offend our senses."

"Sounds almost heavenly!" Theodore quipped.

"I would not go so far as to say that." Margaret rolled her eyes. "However, as for an industrial town, I feel we are in one of the best locations."

"Rather like Mayfair in London?" Theodore wagged his generous eyebrows and downed the rest of whatever liquor remained in his glass.

"Hardly Mayfair," she chuckled. There was no comparison between the glamour of this area of London and the spot where the boy's home rested. "It is rather like an oasis in a desert made of heavy machines instead of sand."

Theodore elbowed George, who was staring oddly at her. "She's a poet, lad." He laughed and elbowed his brother again. "I like it." He gave her a tender look with a little surprised fascination mixed in.

 _Could he be interested in me?_ Strange.

Just then, they were called into dinner. Margaret set down her empty wine glass and then accepted the arm Theodore offered. George followed behind, mumbling about machinery and sand. The dining room was as splendid as she remembered. She had not eaten here but two or three times before tonight, but the room was just how she remembered it, gilded and opulent.

"How long will you be in London?" Theodore asked.

"I have not decided just yet," she answered honestly.

Theodore waited for the attendant to pull out her chair and then once Margaret was seated, he chose the spot to her left. George sat on her right. She was not certain how to react to such avid and undivided attention from not one, but two men!

Margaret caught Aunt Shaw's eye from across the table and flushed. It was as if Margaret could read her mind, and she did not like the direction it was taking! Aunt Shaw must understand that she was an old friend of these fellows and they were simply reuniting after many years. A viscount would certainly never seriously consider Margaret, and George was simply being polite, as he always had been toward Margaret.

Dinner conversation was cordial, primarily focused upon the memories each had from their visits to the Great Exhibition, which was now closed. In the months it was open, George had attended only a single time, while Theodore's visits numbered well in the twenties. Theodore admitted a fascination with the machinery; equipment he had never seen before, while George complained at the number of people in attendance.

"I did, however, enjoy the building itself. The fountain was marvelous, as were the glass walls and ceilings." George turned to look at her directly. "I have wished to build a greenhouse at my home for some time now. I believe I could use the plans from the Crystal Palace on a much smaller scale."

"What a lovely plan," she said. "What would you grow?"

Immediately, she regretted asking the question, as George had a long explanation pre-prepared in answer of her question. She tried at several points to cut the conversation and interject something, but it was not to be. After a solid ten minutes of his rambling, her smile began to falter, and Theodore stepped in to save her.

"I, too, plan to undertake a building program quite soon," he said.

She turned from George and face Theodore. "A family of building specialists," she teased. "And what great wonder are you planning, my lord?"

"Theodore, Margie, _Theodore_. Or call me _Theo_ , as you used to so many years ago."

"Very well," Margaret agreed smiling, suddenly feeling very shy.

"Right, then." He took a long sip of wine, and wiped the corners of his mouth before explaining. "Father has a small estate just south of the Scottish border and the foundation is in shambles. The earl has gifted me the manor, provided I fix it up to the grand splendor it once was."

"Who lived there?" she asked quietly.

"It was my grandmother's ancestral home. My father's mother. It has been vacant for decades now, allowed to fall into disgusting disrepair."

"How sad." She sipped her wine, already feeling a small bit of tingly lightness. It was her second glass, and she rarely finished one!

"It is!" he agreed with a firm nod. "When I finished up at Cambridge, Father gifted me the estate." He glanced to the elder man at the end of the table. Theo leaned in close to her, nearly close enough for their noses to touch. "I'm not at all certain if it was a gift or a curse." He laughed and pulled back a respectable distance. "I believe he gave it to me as a project to keep me entertained."

"Has it worked?" she asked.

He shrugged. "The drawing and redrawing of my plans has consumed quite some time. I have yet to find qualified people to take on the project, which is why I am here in London and not at the crumbling estate in the north."

"Is it inhabitable?"

He chuckled. "Not for a fine lass as yourself, surely, but I am getting along fine with a skeleton staff." He moved close again. "I find being in the rough makes me… appreciate… the finer things."

His warm smile left little doubt in Margaret's mind he was flirting with her. _But why_? Perhaps he was just as effervescent as his father, simply a friendly extrovert that liked to tease and play. Or, it could be he simply treated all young woman with the same friendly attention. Margaret had not seen Theodore for so many years, it was hard to know how people change over time.

She returned her attention to her food, curious what the man at her elbow might have in store for her for the rest of the evening.

"Come!" John called out in answer to the knock on his office door. He looked up as the knob turned to see Robbie Higgins walking inside.

"Hello, Master," Robbie said. "Williams asked me to come and tell you that the third shipment is now loaded and ready to leave the yard."

John raised his brows and sat up straight in his chair. "It's all been inventoried and counted a second time?"

"And a _third_ time." The younger man said with a huge grin. "And after close, Williams and I will see it to the station."

John admired how particular Williams was in his operations. His methods were accurate and nearly foolproof. John had seen the same tenacity and precision in the young man before him, which was why he was so keen on having him take William's place following the older man's retirement. Robbie was picking up the good work ethic of Williams, just as John had hoped.

"Very good. Good indeed!" John nodded. Holding back his smile, he looked back down at his ledgers, continuing to balance the columns.

He was _exceptionally_ pleased with the sudden maturity and improved behavior of Robbie Higgins. Five days was all it had taken for the lad to be back on track, working hard and just as efficiently as he had. John was proud of him, but it was too soon to tell him that just yet.

When Robbie remained, John looked up again, eyebrows raised. "How is Bessie?"

John was concerned for Margaret's friend. He knew when Bessie passed away Margaret would be very sad. Bessie had been strong enough to go to Margaret and apologize for Robbie's behavior only a few short months ago. Now, she was too ill to leave her bed. It had been a dramatic decline, but Margaret steadfastly remained by her side, until John pushed her away.

"Holding on. Sleeping mostly." Robbie walked forward. "I worry about Pa and my sister Mary. Mary mostly, I reckon. They took care of each other and with Bessie gone…"

John was not certain how to place into words what he wished to say, without offending Robbie. "After Bessie… no longer needs her… Mary will have a position in my home," John said. "If she would like it, that is..."

Robbie nodded quickly. "I am certain she would be honored to work in your home, Master. Thank you for your kindness."

"No kindness." John frowned with a shake of his head. "I have witnessed how she cares for Bessie and believe she would be kind to my family, as well."

Plus Margaret, if he could convince her to forgive him and return to Milton, would enjoy Mary's company each day. Mary would remind her of Bessie and, he hoped, would bring pleasure to her days.

"I told Williams I would return and help him through close before the cotton delivery." Robbie hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

John glanced up at his clock. It was just after seven. "Best be moving then, lad."

Robbie tipped his head. "Good evening, Mr. Thornton."

When Robbie was gone, John set down his pencil and leaned his head back against his chair. At least his decision dealing with the Higgins boy had been a good one. John felt incredible relief to know these three critical shipments were headed to the Outwood Station a day ahead of time, for the late night trip to the south. The cotton would soon be loaded upon ships for La Harve, France and far beyond, to be crafted into the finest of garments in the whole world.

Today had been the most pleasing workday of recent memory. Early that morning, an unexpected payment arrived from Campton Textiles. Campton, a decades old family business, had failed months earlier. It seemed the owner had the integrity to satisfy outstanding bills. That payment was sufficient to wipe out the debt John still owed on the fluff wheel. At lunch, John had sent his mother to pay off the note at the bank, unwilling to chance a sighting of Latimer.

Now, with the most urgent orders completed, John was free to go to Margaret in London, crawling on his knees if he must, to beg her forgiveness. First however, he must go to Mr. Hale. Since the Hales moved to Milton, John had visited the boy's school on Thursday evenings for his Latin lessons. It was usually about this time of night when he finally arrived, certain the mill was quiet for the evening, and his ledgers balanced and ready for the following day.

John expected to face anger from Mr. Hale, but knew he had to be a man and face Mr. Hale's resentment head on. John had made a grand mistake and he would own up to it, admit his failure to understand the foolishness of his scheme. Mr. Hale had trusted John with Margaret and John had failed—repeatedly—in his gentle, respectable care of the lady. He had kissed her, imposed his desires upon her, and then simply left her with a letter. If he were in Mr. Hale's position, John did not know how he would respond, but he feared it would be with anger instead of kindness.

He glanced at his appointment book for the following day, confirming he had no fixed engagements for the next several days which would interfere with his trip to London. He would open the mill in the morning and alert Williams to his plan, with hopes of a return on Sunday, should all go to plan. His mother already knew what he was planning, but he would review what he needed her to do while he was gone.

In the square of his calendar book, sectioned off for the previous day, _Margaret_ was written with several circles and underlines for him to remember her birthday. He had not forgotten, of course, but to send her a letter or gift would have been in poor taste. He had to see her face in order to clear up his error, and the gift he had to present her on Friday evening would hopefully please her more than flowers, candy or a letter.

Or so he hoped.

He pushed away from the desk, stood, stretched and then through the window looked down at the floor of the mill, still active, but in the final stages of the daily shut-down. He knew he would need to soon replace two old looms with the more advanced Lancashire, but for now, they all appeared to be running as smooth as could be. He caught William's gaze and waved to him as he did each time he left the mill before it was closed for the evening. Williams nodded back, and with that John shrugged into his frockcoat and headed outside the mill, onto the street to signal a hired carriage. He did not want his mother to know where he was headed, did not want her input at the moment.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Charades was Margaret's favorite parlour game growing up. Tonight Theo and George had convinced her to try it again, making it a fun ending to a rather dull evening. While she liked the gentlemen, Margaret grew tired of their pompous attitudes and discussion of bricks and glass and building plans. She really knew nothing of building construction, and when she tried to lighten their discussion, by mentioning wallpapers and curtain designs, they ignored her.

The female guests were all so much older than Margaret, and she had little to add to their conversations about their grown children, many her own age, and their younger grandchildren. Here too, she tried to relay her experiences with children at the foundling home, but Aunt Shaw quickly sent her a telling look which suggested Margaret not mention more details about the orphanage.

In short, Margaret felt out of place in a society she had once embraced. She had grown, developed into something these ladies failed to understand. For all their talk of donations to the poor, none of them actually spent their valuable time giving to those in need. These fine ladies of Aunt's social circle had never seen poverty as Margaret had in the Princeton District, could hardly fathom the dirt and grime and stench of that area. They had only half of life's experiences, while Margaret at a much younger age was being exposed to more of what the world had to offer. Had she not left the comfort of London, she would have ended up like these ladies, unaware of true need in the world. Bessie and Lily, the twirler, had added so much to her life! What if she had never met them?

"Margaret?" Theo tapped her on her shoulder, gaining her attention.

"Sorry? Did you say something?" She had been so lost in her thoughts she had not even heard the man approach her where she sat half-listening to her aunt and Lady Peregrine.

"It is time to start the game, and I have chosen _you_ as my partner."

"Oh!" she answered. She tried to appear flattered, but it was an effort.

"Come along." He encouraged the other two ladies to follow.

He rested his hand briefly on her back, guiding her toward the sitting room, where everyone was then broken into teams of two. The older couples had departed quite soon after the dinner was over, leaving just the six of them behind. Margaret had hoped to leave earlier, too, however, _the boys_ , as Lady Peregrine called them, cajoled Aunt Shaw to stay and play. Aunt Shaw was all too pleased by the attention, and agreed without even asking Margaret.

Much later, after several rounds of play, and many drink refills, Theo whispered, "Do you know Thackeray?"

His mouth was far too near Margaret's ear, and she moved away, conscious of the people around them. Never had she met anyone so indifferent to expectations of proper behavior. Theo continually bumped against her, touched her arm, touched her back, and made Margaret very uncomfortable in the familiar way he addressed her.

"The writer?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," Theo said.

"Yes, of course I do." She nodded. _Who didn't?_

They were waiting now for George and his mother to come up with a phrase to act out for them to guess. So far Margaret had done well with the phrases, but it was Lord Peregrine who was the true professional at charades.

"I read once," Theo stared at her, "that he said something to the effect that playing a game of charades allows pretty girls to display their visual charms and those few, with some wit, to display their cleverness."

She chuckled. Thackeray's sharp tongue was often humorous, always clever, and sometimes painful. In any event, his thoughts were usually interesting and thought provoking to many.

"That does not say much about his opinion of women does it?"

"No indeed," Theo said. He leaned so close she could smell the liquor on his breath. "I know, however, you have both, Margaret Hale; wit _and_ beauty."

She flushed and looked away from his deep brown eyes, shielding herself from his uninvited attention. He was just teasing her, she knew, and while the compliments were lovely, they rang rather false to her ears. She was a reasonable, level-headed girl, not one to be swayed by pretty words without substance. He was a handsome man, accustomed, she was certain, to being amused by the finest ladies of London. She could not understand why he was being so attentive to her.

"First word!" she chirped, focusing her attention back on the game and not on her troublesome partner.

This evening needed to end soon. Theo's leg was now directly against hers. How could she distance herself without offending the viscount? Maybe if she ignored him he would go away, like an annoying gnat.

"Face," she guessed when George waved in front of his own.

George shook his head and continued, pointing then to his rather long nose quite explicitly.

"Nose," Lord Peregrine said, laughing. He looked around to his guests. "Poor lad got stuck with my hooter."

George nodded quickly. He then put up two fingers, indicating the second word. He held out his two hands in front of him and appeared to be carrying something clenched in his fists. Then, he made a gesture as if hoisting something over his shoulder.

She was confused, and as others threw out guesses, she hoped someone would solve it quickly. This was the last turn, Lady Peregrine had announced, which meant Margaret and her aunt could soon take their leave, and she could be rid of Theodore and his hot, alcohol-laced breath.

A phrase suddenly came to Margaret. "Bags! Nose bags?"

George shook his head and suddenly Aunt Shaw yelped, "Nose bagger!"

"Yes!" Lady Peregrine squealed with a clap.

Margaret had heard the phrase irregularly, but knew it had something to do with a selfish person who refused to share their bag of goods. At least that is what she thought it meant. How _nose_ came into the phrase, she did not know, but in any event, she was glad the game was through.

"George, come here!" Theo called him over to where they remained sitting. "Well done, chap! Well done." Theo clapped his brother on the arm.

"Thank you." He took an exaggerated bow.

"Tell me, is tomorrow evening the night you have tickets for the theater?" Theo asked his brother.

"It is," George answered, with a curt nod.

"George is taking his lady to see the theater production of _Queen of Spades_ in Drury Lane," Theo told Margaret. "Would you care to join us? As my _particular_ guest?"

 _Oh no!_

"Tomorrow?" Try as she might she could not come up with a satisfactory excuse. She looked between the men, staring at her, and very slowly nodded. "I should be pleased to attend with you."

"Excellent! Excellent." Theo stood and reached for her hand to pull her up. "I shall fetch you at seven or so at your aunt's lovely home in Harley Street."

"Do I hear plans being made?" Aunt Shaw asked, joining them, where they stood. She was wearing what Margaret could only describe as a scheming grin.

Margaret smiled. "Yes, Aunt. The Viscount Peregrine has asked me to attend the theater with him tomorrow and I have agreed."

Aunt Shaw's face lit up, her smile becoming even wider, threatening to split her face in half. "Marvelous! How kind of you, my lord."

"It will be my greatest pleasure." He rested his hand on his heart as another dramatic display.

Lord, Theo was as phony as a three pound bank note and Aunt was soaking it in like a fine cotton cloth.

Apprehensively, John stood on the steps of the house at the boy's school awaiting entry. He had rapped not once, but twice. Given that the home was lit up, he was certain someone was at home. Dixon was rarely in a hurry, in fact, it was often Margaret who opened the door for him when he came to pay call. Tonight, she would not be there to meet him, and Dixon was sluggish as usual.

Finally, the door opened a mere crack. Dixon's round face peered out into the night, souring upon realization it was him at the door.

"Mr. Thornton." She tipped her nose up and looked down at him.

"Hello Dixon. May I come in?"

She frowned and followed with a snort. "No," she stated and snorted again. "You may wait here on the steps and I shall see if Mr. Hale will take time to see you."

The maid had the audacity to shut the door in his face, none too gently, either. Although he had rather choice words for the servant bouncing through his head, he kept them to himself and took several deep breaths, waiting for the verdict from Mr. Hale. Dixon's opinion of him was irrelevant. Would he blame Mr. Hale if he denied the visit? No… however, he hoped, and knew, Mr. Hale was a better man than him.

The door opened again, this time wider, with Mr. Hale behind it. "Come in, Mr. Thornton," he offered, politely. "Please forgive Dixon's impertinence." He sighed. "She sometimes forgets her place."

Mr. Hale was not his jolly, pleasant self and John was worried that foreshadowed how this discussion would go. After closing the door, he led John into the sitting room where they always studied and visited, often with Margaret. He waved John toward his usual seat, and then sunk into his own threadbare chair.

Once settled, Mr. Hale asked, "Have you come to study this evening?"

His careworn face was blank, betraying nothing. As a clergyman, Mr. Hale had likely encountered many a difficult situation and had learned to school his features to avoid appearing judgmental. Counseling was surely one of the tasks he performed for his parishioners, time and time again. John could almost feel the tension in the room, knew that no visible emotions did not mean there were none.

"Yes. Or, perhaps…" John sputtered… "just to speak with you, if you are willing?"

Mr. Hale nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You did not come for your lesson Tuesday. I thought because of your change of intentions toward Margaret you may not return at all."

Disappointment, not anger was the emotion etched on the older man's face. John thought it might be easier to deal with anger. Anger would be easier to overcome, disappointment tended to remain in a person's mind. Without words, Mr. Hale had shown how much John's actions had bothered him.

"That is just what I have come to address," John said quietly. He folded his hands in his lap like a naughty schoolboy awaiting a well-deserved upbraiding.

"She is not here, Mr. Thornton," Mr. Hale replied, leaning back in his chair and cupping the end of the arms of the chair with his hands.

The information given to John by Robbie Higgins was true, then. Margaret had indeed left Milton. "I was told she has gone to London."

"Yes." Mr. Hale paused as Dixon came in with a tea tray. Once she set it down on the table in front of them, she remained, as if waiting for something. "Thank you, Dixon. That will be all."

She stared at Mr. Hale as if wanting to say more, or for him to say more, but as he ignored her, she finally left the room with an audible huff. John had met, and employed many maids over the years, but never had he seen one so haughty, so displeased by the world in general, or him in particular.

"She is with Mrs. Shaw." Mr. Hale poured a cup of tea and added cream and sugar before handing it to John. "She left here quite… _abruptly_ Friday."

"I handled that poorly," John stated before taking a sip.

Mr. Hale snorted. "That, my boy, is the understatement of the year." He sat back with his legs crossed, setting his cup on his lap. He shook his head in displeasure. "How you went from asking my permission to wed her on a Tuesday and dismissing her from her life by Friday, I cannot say. Nor, can I understand your cold, callous behavior toward her at your Mill Master's Dinner. Why, you ignored her! The woman you told me you loved and wanted to share your life with! After spending the whole of the day with her as she saw to her charity work. Suddenly you behaved as if you barely knew her."

John had never heard Mr. Hale raise his voice. Indeed, John had wondered how well he would chastise naughty boys at the school as he was so soft spoken and gentle. Clearly there was another side to him, and the voice from that side was loud, and the anger true. Mr. Hale's censure hurt John to his very core. He had expected it, of course, but it had been so very long since anyone had scolded him, it was horribly uncomfortable.

"I was pushed into a decision where I felt I had no choice but to act as I did," John mumbled.

Mr. Hale slapped the arm of his chair. "John Thornton, you are the _only on_ e in control of your behavior." That comment flew forth with a roar.

John cringed, and stared at the ground. When his mother used both his first name and his surname, he knew there would be hell to pay. How pathetic he felt.

Mr. Hale sighed deeply and as John looked up, he leaned forward. "Life is full of choices, lad. You made a poor one."

"Yes, I did," John agreed immediately. "I knew within moments of sending Margaret that letter I had made the wrong choice." He glanced down at the remaining contents of his teacup.

There was a pregnant pause in the conversation, perhaps intended to make John squirm. At least that was what was happening, he was writhing inside, dreading what the older man would say next.

Finally, Mr. Hale spoke in a very calm, scholarly voice. "Aristotle said that it is during the darkest moments in life when we must focus to see the light. I believe you closed the curtains on the light, instead of embracing it, and using it to bring you happiness."

"You mean Margaret, do you not?" Mr. Hale had shifted into his scholar mode, forcing John to decipher his true meaning. "She was my light and instead of focusing on her, I chose to focus on the darkness of my situation."

"Precisely!" Mr. Hale raised a finger, punctuating his response. "I knew you were a bright young man. You closed out the possibilities when you broke with Margaret."

"I should have talked with you before…"

"Not me, John," Mr. Hale interrupted. " _Margaret_ is the one you should have spoken to. Had you done so, I imagine she would have calmed you down as she so often does me." He smiled then, soft and gentle, like the man John was more familiar with. "There is something quite special about her, a power she possesses to help ease fear and worry. She, just like you, is very smart and clever and surely could have helped developed options for you that did not include her removing from Milton."

 _Removing from Milton? Had she planned to leave forever?_

John wanted to know, but instead asked, "Did Margaret tell you about the contents of my letter to her?"

"No." He refilled his cup and shook his gray head.

"Oh." John was surprised Margaret would not have told her father.

"She did not speak with me at all, but rather leftme your _actual_ letter." He took a long sip of tea, and then set both cup and saucer on the tray. "I was not home to comfort her when it arrived, and she was gone before I came home for lunch."

"I see."

John's eyes went back to the floor, hoping it might open up and suck him into the ground. When he finally did look up again, Mr. Hale was staring at him, waiting silently.

"You know, then, what Mr. Latimer demanded," John said. "He said that in order to increase my loan, so I might cover the raise which my workers were demanding, I had to turn my attention from Margaret to his daughter, Ann."

"Yes, I was able to read your intentions written between the lines." Mr. Hale shifted in his chair to cross his legs. "I wish to know, though, what would have happened had you _not_ accepted additional funds from Mr. Latimer?"

John shook his head, feeling the same frustration all over again. "You were at the dinner and learned just when I did that the Irish replacements were not coming. They were my last hope." The last came out in a hoarse whisper.

"Your mill would have closed?"

John nodded. "Likely. I had three orders due for shipment this week or they would have been cancelled. That money was critical for Marlborough Mills. Without workers, there would have been no way to complete them. I had banked sufficient funds to pay my workers for some time, but not with their raise calculated in."

Again, Mr. Hale stared at him. John was not sure what he wanted John to say or if he was formulating his own response.

"I shall feed you some Plato now. He believed good decisions are based on knowledge and not numbers. You, John, are a numbers man, but did you not apply your experience and knowledge of your own heart when you made the choice?"

John waited before answering, considering how to best answer that difficult question.

"I did not," he finally answered. "I looked at the financial information and the effect of a continued strike on the mill and Milton." He swallowed. "I did not consider my happiness or Margaret's but instead thought of the mill's continued success."

"So to meet your numbers, Margaret was sacrificed?"

The image of a Margaret laying upon a table being sacrificed to some ancient god suddenly appeared in John's mind. He shook his head to clear the image.

"I suppose you could look at it that way, yes. By doing as Latimer required, I was able to reopen the mill, employ hundreds and continue to provide for my mother and sister."

"Your application of logic is reasonable, however, you failed to account for your feelings and commitment to Margaret." Mr. Hale's vice was rising again. "There was a clear _understanding_ between the two of you, and your rejection may be construed in a horrible way by Milton society. It may have set her up for contempt from those she should be in association with, respected by. She did nothing to receive censure, yet surely your snub will create that whirl. To say nothing of the fact that you took up with Miss Latimer so soon after Margaret's departure."

John remained silent, accepting his scolding. How could he argue with the man? He was completely correct, and John was very deserving of an even more severe lashing. If Watson called off the wedding with Fanny, John would likely be having the same conversation with him, and John knew he would not, could not, remain calm.

"Margaret's dowry would not have been sufficient to cover the workers' raise?" Mr. Hale asked. "It is small by some standards, and I understand living costs are higher in Milton, but surely… it could have helped."

John felt a bit of pity for Mr. Hale and wondered if the older man was truly out of touch. By and by John had set aside nearly ten times the amount for Fanny's dowry as Mr. Hale had for Margaret. Margaret was not a pauper, but the dowry would simply scratch the surface of what he had needed in order to satisfy the demands of the workers.

"It may have been sufficient to buy time, but not in the long term." He would not offend the man by criticizing his lack of planning. John set his cup and saucer on the table next to his chair, his stomach rolling with nerves.

"So what has happened within a scant week to help you realize your error?"

John cleared his throat, and stared intently at his folded hands hanging between his knees. Talking to anyone about his feelings was uncomfortable—sharing with Mr. Hale was almost physically painful. "I am failing without her," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Life is not worth much without happiness, and I have never known such happiness as I knew with your daughter."

He dared a glance up at Mr. Hale.

"Maria and I were so different," the older man said quietly, barely above a whisper. "I was shocked when she accepted me, but knew that if I did not ask for her hand I would forever regret it. I expect I would have ended up much like Adam Bell. Not as wealthy, of course, he was always more willing to take risks with his money than I was, but I would have remained a bachelor."

John could see that. He could also imagine the two friends when younger, Bell wild and carefree, Hale the serious scholar and family man.

"I wish I could have met Mrs. Hale," John said honestly.

"She was the finest woman I have ever known. She gave my life purpose and direction." Mr. Hale looked away. "She was my rock and I miss her every day."

"That is how I feel about your daughter." John paused. "I believe I am headed down that same path as Mr. Bell, should Margaret refuse to accept my apology."

Mr. Hale frowned. "What of Miss Latimer?"

"I saw her this week," John admitted. "I explained to her my heart was engaged elsewhere and I would be glad to call her my friend, but nothing more."

John knew he had to bare his personal affairs to Mr. Hale. Now was not the time for secrets or worrying about privacy.

"She accepted that?" Mr. Hale asked.

"She did, yes." John nodded. "I am not certain her father will, but as I said, I must pursue my own happiness."

"And if Latimer does not accept your ultimate decision?"

John sighed and sat back against his chair, crossing his arms against his chest. He had pondered the same question many times.

"I suppose he could call in what I have used as collateral for his loan. He could claim my power looms, or my carts. But the business, and the name I have formed for it, is mine and he can never take that from me. The mill would be worth very little should he remove the machinery and try to piece it out. None of the local mill men are swimming in money at the moment and even if they did, they would not wish to buy my machinery, knowing it could well be their mills up for auction in the future."

"Then why did you not realize this a week ago?"

"I am a proud man," Mr. Hale. "It is difficult to admit that I panicked. I have never been so scared, so weak." He swallowed and actually felt tears come to his eyes. "Not since I was a child did I feel I was no longer in control of my future life. And while I agree that no one can control another's behavior, Latimer had done what he needed to do in order to force my hand." He blinked quickly, and then looked Mr. Hale in the eye. "By Saturday last, I realized I was more scared of not having Margaret in my life than not having my mill."

That was as honest as he could be. The truth was now laid before Mr. Hale and he could accept John or throw him out. Either way, John was going on the morrow to London to pour his heart out to Margaret.

"I can well understand that. Margaret may be my daughter, but I understand her worth. I saw from the very beginning, so many months ago in London, what delight she brought to you." Mr. Hale frowned. "You are saying the right things, Thornton, but I am not the injured party. Margaret is the one you must convince of your weakness and mistakes, convince her that you will not make another decision such as you did without her input. Everyone makes mistakes, John, and while no marriage is perfect, if you choose to approach life together, as partners, rather than keeping secrets, so much heartache can be avoided. "

"I intend to go to London on the mid-morning train tomorrow," John answered quickly. He grinned. "I need my partner back."

Mr. Hale nodded silently. He appeared to be formulating a response, carefully measuring his words in his head. Finally, he spoke.

"Margaret has never had a lover, John, not someone _she_ loved at any rate. She was angry when she left Milton, but I imagine as soft as her heart, she has turned the anger into despair. I am not certain how she will react to you when you arrive at Harley Street, but I have never know her to hold a grudge. Her aunt may be another story all together. She can be quite… formidable."

John chuckled. "Mrs. Shaw does not frighten me, certainly not enough as losing Margaret forever does."

The men sat in companionable silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. John was thinking of Mrs. Shaw and what he would face when he arrived. He hoped she would not throw him out on the street, but depending what Margaret had told her, and how Margaret was feeling, Mrs. Shaw just might.

"Margaret's favorite bible verse is Philippians 4:6," Mr. Hale said. "Do you know it?"

John thought about it, tried to pull the verse from his brain, but failed. "I cannot recall."

"Be careful for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication—"

John interrupted him, remembering the rest. "Let your requests be known unto God, who shall keep your hearts and minds calm through the love of Jesus Christ." John smiled. "Or something to that effect. I am a fine student, but not much for memorization." He chuckled. "That is why I have come to you for conjugation lessons."

"Margaret understands worry and despair," Mr. Hale said. "Her strength helped me through the loss of my son to exile on the Continent, and then after her mother's passing."

"If she does not forgive me…"

"Patience, lad," Mr. Hale interrupted him this time. "It may take a bit, but she cares for you. Show her you value and care for her and she will forgive you." Mr. Hale smiled gently. "It may take some soft words, and a bit of wooing, but I have no doubt you are up to it."

"I told you once I never courted another. I shall approach her with honesty and true regret and pray she accepts me… despite my faults and mistakes."

"I shall provide one more word of wisdom for the evening before sending you home to prepare for your trip south tomorrow." Mr. Hale stood.

"And what is that?" John asked, standing.

"William Shakespeare, of course, must be consulted when lovers are involved. In _Midsummer Night's Dream_ he declares the course of true love never runs smoothly. You and my daughter have hit a rather dangerous fork in the river, but if you are meant to be together, God will allow it to be."

The following morning, John joined his mother at the breakfast table, just after he heard Williams light the boiler at the mill to get the steam engine ready for the day. Following his visit with Mr. Hale the night before, John had returned to his office to make certain there was nothing pending his approval. Although it had been near closing when he left to see Mr. Hale, he knew Williams and Higgins had taken the cotton to the station, and anything could have occurred between the mill and the train. Williams left a note saying all was well, along with the receipt for the shipment costs.

Although there was nothing of true concern, John ended up sitting at his desk for a few hours, until he could no longer keep his eyes open. He had taken the time to make a list of buyers he could approach while in London. There had been a time not so very long ago he had to refuse orders because he could only keep up with the buyers he had. He could use three or four new accounts now, and somehow he would place them in a rotation to utilize his facilities at the best rate of production.

In truth, none of that mattered to him at the moment. His mind was not on the mill, but rather on Margaret. Just as he had practiced his proposal in front of the mirror days earlier, this morning he practiced his apology. His words were running through his head as he set down his valise just outside of the dining room.

"Good morning, Mother." He kissed her cheek before sitting at the opposite end of the table."  
"Good morning, my son. When do you leave?" she asked.

She knew very well when the train left, but he would play along.

"Provided nothing happens to detain me as I open the mill for the day, I will be on the next train to London."

"Where will you stay?"

Jane came in with a plate of hot food for him. After setting it in front of him, she left.

"I am hopeful I will be welcome at Margaret's aunt's home in Harley Street. If not, I will secure a room."

"You will return Sunday?"

He grinned. So many questions!

"I will determine that after speaking with Margaret," he answered. "She may have engagements set for next week."

"And why should that matter?" First Mr. Hale yelled at him, now his mother. "You need not be there to attend her functions!" She snorted. "Your place is at the mill, not in some hoity-toity mansions in London."

He clenched his jaw and stared at his dear mother. "I will not leave London without her."

His mother actually huffed. He bit back a smile. He had known all along she would be a stumbling block, even when things were prepared for a marriage engagement, she was still hesitant in her acceptance of Margaret. She was not from Milton, his mother said. She did not understand the mill, did not understand the working man. So many excuses, but none with any teeth.

"What if she refuses you?"

There was the knife in his heart. What if she did?

"I believe she cares for me as I do her, and while I erred greatly…" He shrugged. "I hope she will forgive me and allow me to redeem myself."

"And if she does not?"

He hit the table with his hand. "Enough, Mother! I am nervous enough about the situation, I do not need you to second guess my chance at success."

"Fine!" she yelled back. "I will see to the mill, you see to Margaret."

"Thank you," John said.

"I just pray that you make the right choice and your desire for the girl does not bring down Marlborough Mills!"


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Margaret dear, I cannot believe you are not upstairs preparing for your evening with the viscount!" Edith plopped down in the chair to Margaret's right. "Gah! If it were me, Cousin, I would have started hours ago." Her blonde curls wiggled as she shook her head.

Margaret rolled her eyes at Edith's ridiculousness. It was but two o'clock in the afternoon, a good _five hours_ before Theo Peregrine would arrive for her. Margaret had never taken more than an hour to be ready for any evening at the theater and today would be no different. Besides, she had a sampler to finish for Edith's child, and the light was particularly good today for stitching in the drawing room.

"Edith," Margaret looked back down at her stitching, "Theo is just as obnoxious and brazen as he was when we were children. I am not exceptionally thrilled about the prospect of spending another evening in his company." _Or smelling is alcohol rank breath._

"Oh my dear girl how Milton has tarnished you! Do you not comprehend the great honor it will be to attend the theater on his arm? He will be an _earl_ one day, Margaret." Edith grabbed Margaret's hand, causing her needlework to fall. " _An earl!_ "

"Edith!" Margaret laughed and retrieved the wooden hoop from the floor. "I have no wish to be a countess. I have no desire to be part of a society that does not help the less fortunate. Last night was quite an eye-opening experience."

Edith frowned and then shifted as the baby kicked. Margaret had become quite familiar with Edith's reactions to now be able to identify, just by the look on Edith's face, what the baby was doing. "Whatever do you mean?"

Margaret sighed. "The women, _fine_ women, had no idea of the suffering in the world. I tried to speak about the foundling home and your mother prevented it." Margaret shook her head. "They speak of the poor as if they are in such a state by their own design, as if they enjoy being destitute." Her voice was unintentionally shrill.

"Margaret, mother's friends simply do not care!" Edith huffed. "They care only for their families, and those of their acquaintance. Most of those women are not aware of politics or economies of the world. They know only what they read in the society pages of the newspaper and the gossip they hear in the fine drawing rooms of London."

"And that is how you wish to be?"

"Heavens no!" Edith answered. "That it, yes, for a time, I expect to be focused upon raising my dear children and caring for my darling husband. In the future, I expect to become quite involved in charitable endeavors."

Margaret wanted to ask what those endeavors and plans might include, but she decided to allow it to pass. If Edith planned to do it, Margaret hopped she would follow through. The girl was not one to do things on her own, and if Aunt Shaw was at all critical of the idea, Edith would not follow-through.

"Let us go upstairs and chose a gown for you," Edith said. She was far more excited about this evening than Margaret. "This baby is giving me such grief today and I cannot get comfortable while sitting. In fact, I may lay down again and allow the little one to stretch out as it seems to need to do today."

Edith tried to rise from her chair, but failed with a huff. Margaret tried not to giggle, but failed. After setting aside her needlework, she stood and moved to help her cousin rise. She took hold of her pale hands and pulled her up. By the time Edith was standing, they were both laughing.

"Someday, dear cousin, this will be you!" Edith scolded gently as she adjusted her dress over the girth of her stomach.

"Yes, I suppose so." Margaret giggled again. "I am ever so glad you get the honor of being first through this situation."

"Ha ha!" Edith frowned. "Just for that, I will pray you have twins!"

Margaret stuck out her tongue at Edith, making her howl in laughter.

Suddenly, the door to the drawing room popped open. Sally, the maid, quickly introduced their visitor and stood aside as the well-dressed man entered the room. Both women turned to greet the guest, but it was Margaret who rushed forward to embrace him, surprised, but delighted that he was there.

"Mr. Bell! I am so pleased to see you," she said against his chest. She took a step back and he leaned forward to kiss her cheeks.

"I am shocked to see you!" he answered. "What are you doing in London? Should you not be in the north?"

"I am here for a visit." Margaret stepped aside, still holding Mr. Bell's hand.

"Good day, Mrs. Lennox! How lovely you are looking!" Mr. Bell said with a wide smile and nod toward Edith. "I had come to call on you and Mrs. Shaw before heading to Milton. I thought perhaps you ladies might have something to send along to Margaret, but here is the woman herself!" He chuckled.

"You are going to Milton?" Margaret asked.

"Yes." He glanced at Edith. Margaret could see he was hesitant to say more with her present.

"Oh!" Edith caught the subtle hint. "While you two enjoy your visit, I shall find the perfect dress for you for the theater this evening." She paused next to Mr. Bell as she was leaving the room, and said, "She is being escorted by a _viscount_."

"Indeed?" he asked. Like Margaret, Mr. Bell was not one to be swayed or impressed by a title, however he acted impressed to please Edith.

Margaret nodded as he studied her. "He is the son of an old friend of Aunt Shaw's."

"Good day, Mr. Bell," Edith smiled and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for calling on us."

"It is always a pleasure to see you." Always the gentleman, he took Edith's hand and kissed it.

Margaret chuckled at the flush that covered Edith's cheeks before she hurried from the room.

"I believe she has always had a mad crush on you," Margaret whispered to him.

He scoffed. "She has been a delight to know. I imagine having a friend such as Edith, when you have no sister of your own has been invaluable."

"Yes." Margaret nodded. "I could not imagine a better friend."

Margaret moved to close the door, only to nearly run into Sally carrying a tea tray. She stepped aside for the maid. Margaret went to sit in front of the tea tray, and Mr. Bell chose the spot Edith had just left. She thanked Sally, who closed the door behind her.

"Would you like some tea?" Margaret offered.

"No, not right now." He shook his head. He leaned forward and cupped his knees with him palms. "What I would like, however, is an explanation of why you are seeing a viscount this evening and why you have left Milton."

"It is just a visit, Mr. Bell." She shrugged before adding sugar to her tea. "I shall return to Milton in a few days. Perhaps Wednesday."

"And… how will Mr. Thornton react to you associating with other men while here?"

She took a sip before answering, calming herself. "It is none of his concern." She paused. It was a difficult thing to admit, each time she had been forced to explain. "We have parted company."

"Oh, my dear girl! How can this be?" Mr. Bell asked, full of concern. "Did you reject his offer of marriage?"

"No," she answered simply. "There was no offer to refuse."

Mr. Bell continued quickly confusion etched upon his face, "Your father sent me a letter… just this past week explaining Thornton was planning to ask for your hand at the Mill Master's Dinner. Your father was so pleased by the attention you would receive from Milton's finest."

She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat. She had not known of John's plan to ask for her hand at the dinner. The day they spent together had certainly been headed _somewhere._ He had shown her his childhood home, bared his past for her eyes and ears only. He had kissed her, held her… loved her. Sometime between dropping her off at the boy's school and her arrival at the dinner that evening, a mere three hours, Latimer must have changed John's plans, forcing him to nearly shun her at the dinner rather than embracing her. The failure of the Irish people to come had not helped matters either, eliminating any choices John may have had.

"He did not ask." She took a sip of tea and set the saucer and cup on the table between them, her stomach was tightening and becoming uncomfortable and tea would only make it worse. "The Mill Master Dinner was a disastrous evening."

"How so?"

She proceeded to explain the events of that night, embellishing nothing, leaving no detail unspoken. She expressed her deep pain over John's indifference, and then finished with the failure of the Irish to arrive. Mr. Bell had been part of her family her entire life. When she was little, he had listened to her stories and dreams and now he sat quietly, patiently, listening to her, through her teary explanation.

"Oh my dear." He handed her his handkerchief before pulling her gently into his arms and holding her tightly. "What a horrible experience that must have been."

She nodded, bumping her head against his chin. She enjoyed the comfort of his embrace for several minutes before pulling away and wiping her eyes.

"Now this simply will not do! You cannot have red eyes to be going to the theater with a _viscount_!" He teased, sitting back in his chair.

She chuckled. "I do not even like the man," she whispered. "If Aunt had not been there, I would have said no."

He laughed. "Your aunt can be rather…indomitable. I should have liked to see you deny the man your attentions just to see her reaction!"

He laughed louder and she began to feel a little better.

"Now then," Mr. Bell prodded on. "You say you parted company. How did that happen, precisely? Did he come and tell you to leave Milton?"

She shook her head. "He sent a messenger with a letter."

"Thornton did not even face you with the truth!" He thundered. He stood suddenly and began to pace. "How dare he treat you with so little respect!"

She had never in her twenty-one years seen Mr. Bell angry, certainly not as he was now.

Margaret nodded, silently, alarmed at his forceful reaction. "I suppose it was easier for both of us." She looked down at her hands, his gaze too intent. "He said Mr. Latimer would only extend more money to him to pay his workers, if Mr. Thornton courted Miss Latimer. I suppose you could say he chose Marlborough Mills, and Ann Latimer, over me."

She glanced up to see his reaction, not surprised that anger still wrinkled the corners of his mouth. He began to shake his head and sat back into his chair with a deep exhale. "Why did he not just come to me for a loan?"

She remembered the conversation she had had with John about the way Mr. Bell dealt with the Thornton family following the death of John's father. She supposed she should tell Mr. Bell, perhaps it would lead to greater understanding on the older man's part. She was certain Mr. Bell had behaved without intention of harm, and John's hurt stemmed from feeling abandoned, by the two men that meant the most to him—his father, and his mentor.

She reached forward and took Mr. Bell's hand, hoping to soften what she was about to say. She knew he would be offended, but it must be said. "Mr. Thornton took me to the house where he lived after his father's suicide." She swallowed. It was always quite difficult to say that word. "He told me that he was very hurt as a young man that you were unwilling to help them out, that you allowed him to struggle as a method strengthen him."

"Unwilling to help him? Is that what he told you?" Mr. Bell stormed, squeezing her hand a bit too tight. "My dear girl, I gave Mrs. Thornton money each, and every month to supplement Thornton's wages at the drapers. Only when he became an apprentice and then overseer at Marlborough Mills did I begin to gradually eliminate my supplementation."

Stunned, she whispered, "He was quite certain you had no hand in his success, beyond his early schooling and then help acquiring the job at the mill."

He shrugged. "Perhaps the old witch never told him." He cringed. "Forgive me, Margaret, but Mrs. Thornton is one of my least favorite people."

"Yet you helped her in their time of need?"

"John's father was a fine man, a good friend to me." Mr. Bell looked away from her. "John and Fanny are fine children. Thornton senior would have been exceptionally proud of John. He _was_ proud of his son. John was at the top of his class when he was forced to leave the school."

"You could not have allowed him to stay?"

"Of course I _could_ have, but Mrs. Thornton needed his labor to survive. She was not always the formidable woman she is today, and at the time, she was completely unwilling to dirty her hands. As John took control of the mill, she did become active in his business, but solely on her own terms."

"I see."

This news was a lot to digest. It was different from what John believed, and she had no doubt he was being truthful with her in his carriage as they had ridden together through the horrid Brooklane District of Milton. In fact, she was quite certain he had always been honest with her, his last bout of honesty being the most painful.

"Well the mills are in operation again. I suppose what Thornton did allowed that to happen."

Although she was glad John's mill was running again, for the benefit of his workers, especially, she was not pleased at the means he had gone through to achieve the results.

"Shall I change the subject?" Mr. Bell suggested.

Could he see how the discussion was bothering her?

"If you wish," she said, with a nod.

"Very well." He forced a smile. "I shall now accept the tea you offered. I find myself rather parched, and need some warm liquid to tell you my news."

"Of course." She quickly poured him a cup adding lots of sugar and a dash of milk, just as he liked.

"Thank you," he replied as she handed him a cup. "You always know how to make the finest cup of tea."

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. It was hardly a difficult assignment. She took a sip of her own tea, adding some warmer liquid to her cup, waiting for Mr. Bell begin.

"I had two specific reasons to visit you and your father in Milton," he said. "The first reason was to deliver, by hand, your birthday gift. Turning one and twenty is a bit of a milestone year, is it not? You are now considered mature enough to handle your own affairs."

She shrugged. "I suppose so. I feel no different than I did a fortnight ago." She shrugged again.

"That is hardly surprising. People of your age should not feel any different week to week. Except for Mrs. Lennox perhaps as she increases." He chuckled. "Now then, I shall share the second reason I was heading to the north."

She set her cup down again and gave him her full attention.

His face turned serious, with no hint of the charming, amusing man she knew. "This will be difficult for you to hear, I believe, so I shall simply be blunt."

"Oh dear," she moaned. "This sounds quite ominous."

The reminder of her bad news and now his bad news would make for a rather dismal evening.

"Quite," he agreed. "You see, Margaret, I have not felt well for several months." His sigh came from deep within. "I believed I was simply in a funk from which I would eventually emerge."

"But you were wrong?" she whispered.

"Indeed! I came from Oxford earlier this week and allowed my physician and others to poke and prod in places I did not even know exist." He laughed. "The conclusion is that I am rather ill, Margaret."

It was indelicate to ask what was wrong, although she was immensely curious.

"The doctor has suggested I immediately do two things. I must move to a warmer, humid climate with clear, clean skies. Therefore, I have decided to go to Spain to visit your brother, and see if that makes a difference." He took another sip of tea. "The doctors believe such a change in climate should prolong my life, and if I am to be honest, the idea of living my remaining days on a warm, sunny beach with your brother and his wife is quite appealing."

His smile was an attempt to soften the blow. He was saying that he must leave his beloved England forever, and she might never see him again. The pain was great, and tears began to fall again.

"Ach Margaret no tears, my dear girl!" He squeezed her hand. "We _all_ must die sometime. Now is _not_ yet my time, and the doctors have given me an extension on my life by suggesting removal to the beautiful southern coat of Spain. Had I not gone to get checked, who knows what might have happened? Imagine dying in Milton among the smog and dirt."

His attempt at humor did nothing to stall the tears that dropped.

"You simply must come and visit," he said. "Your brother, I am certain, misses you and your father. What a wonderful European tour you two could enjoy."

She nodded, but the tears choked her throat and prevented a response.

"Oh dear, you must stop!" He demanded. "Life changes all the time, and if we do not change with it, we do not grow and find happiness."

She took a deep breath and nodded, but still felt heartbroken and desperately sad. So much loss this year.

"You are perfectly correct, Mr. Bell. It is just a surprise, and lately my surprises have been rather… awful."

He moved his chair slightly and pulled her back into his arms for a long, tight hug. He cooed soothing words, just what she needed to feel a bit better.

He pulled away and took the handkerchief from her hands to dab her eyes. "All will be well. I cannot change what is to happen, the divine Lord above is the one in control of this. I shall enjoy the time I have left, write you often, and hope that you and your father make a visit after the term is over for the year."

She nodded silently.

"Now," he swallowed more tea, "because I must head to the train station or be forced to endure a very late night trip north, I shall give you your birthday gift. When I planned this it was under very different circumstances, but I believe it will still serve its purpose."

He sat back and reached into the interior pocket of his fine wool frockcoat. He withdrew a document from his right pocket and reached into the left and pulled out another.

"The second order my physician gave was to get my affairs in order. That makes perfect sense, of course, as I am moving from England, and likely will not return. I began to put things in order earlier this week, as I had a feeling my diagnosis would not be good."

She remained quiet, eyeing the papers in front of her, waiting for him to continue.

"This was intended to be given for your birthday."

He held out the papers and she reached forward, tentatively. She did not wish to seem too greedy, yet she was very curious what the paperwork said. She unfolded them and quickly scanned the sheets.

Stunned she looked up at him, and then back down at the first paper.

"This cannot be?"

"It is."

"But… why?"

"Why do you think I might gift you the deed to the buildings and land of Marlborough Mills?"

"You expected John and I to wed," she stated.

She wanted to hand it back to him. What an unintentionally cruel reminder of what was no longer possible. She looked at her name on the deed. Just her name. She alone was now the owner of the structures which support John's business!

"Precisely. I will be rather shocked if you do not wed, Margaret. Thornton will realize, just as I have, that love is worth far more than any material possessions. There is nothing of this world I will take with me when I leave this earth, but my memories. The knowledge that I have the power to bring those I love happiness and security will be enough to sustain me in my final years."

He handed her the second pack of papers.

"What is this?"

"The rest of my affairs." He chuckled. "You and Frederick are my sole heirs. I have divided the majority of my holdings between the two of you. Frederick's I will bring along. What is left I will either give to your father or spend on myself while in Spain."

She swallowed, fearful of what she might find in the second documents. She gasped again, closed her eyes and shook her head.

"I cannot accept this!" she said.

"You must, my dear. Accept it now when I am still alive and able to hear about your enjoyment of it, or wait until I am in the ground and the lawyers deliver it to you." He took her hand. "I want you to be happy, to have anything and everything your heart may desire. I want to know you are happy and living in the station of life you deserve."

"But fifteen _thousand_ pounds? _And_ the property?" She tried to give the papers back. "It is too much! I cannot accept this from you! I do not have want of anything!"

"Do not panic. Mr. Lennox will surely be pleased to help you manage these matters." He laughed then. "All I ask is that you do not deposit this into Latimer's bank."

"Oh Mr. Bell!" She began to cry again. "This is not right. I have no right to any of this!"

"Do stop crying," he begged. "I dislike women crying but your tears nearly pierce my heart." He put his hand over his heart.

She sniffed a few times and dabbed at her eyes. She wished it was easy to just tell herself to stop, but it was not. Too many emotions in too short of a time!

"I plan to gift my townhomes in Milton and here in London, as well as my two carriages to your father. I will also give him enough money so he no longer needs to work at the school- or elsewhere. He should enjoy life. Who knows? Maybe I will convince him to come to Spain with me. Imagine us, two old men laying in the sun, speaking in Greek and debating the finer points of literature."

"I would like that," she said. "He misses Fred so much. They were close before Fred went in to the Navy, but after..."

"Yes, they certainly were." Mr. Bell patted his thighs and suddenly stood. "I am off to Milton to tell this all to your father and convince him to come in the spring after the boys go home to their parents. I love you, my godchild."

She stood on shaky legs and leaned into his open arms. She knew instinctively this would be the last time she touched him. They would speak through letters, but she just knew she would never be in his company again. "I love you, Adam Bell. I thank you for your gifts and promise to do well by you."

"I know you will." He pulled back and cupped her shoulders with his hands. "I shall say goodbye as they do in Spain, _Adios_! I have much to learn of that language."

He kissed her cheek and left her standing in the middle of the drawing room at Harley Street half in denial, half in a daze. Her legs began to give out and she sought her chair just as the front door closed behind Mr. Bell.

Despite her deep sadness at Mr. Bell's distressing news, a giggle rose from deep within herself. Incredibly, Margaret had just become the heiress John Thornton was seeking on his trip to London, so many months ago! She tucked the papers into her sewing box, unwilling to share the news with Edith or Aunt Shaw.

After a few minutes of recovery, she stood, pleased she was a bit steadier on her feet. Just as she was leaving the drawing room to join Edith on a hunt for a dress for her evening with the viscount, her aunt arrived home. She waited at the doorway as her aunt divested herself of her outer gear.

"Was that Mr. Bell I saw leaving? I recognized his fine carriage."

"Yes, Aunt." Margaret kissed her Aunt's cheek in greeting as she always did. "He is going to Milton and stopped to call on you and Edith."

"How kind of him. Was he here long?"

She had no worldly idea how long he had been there, or what time it currently was. The conversation they shared had been so intense, she literally lost track of time.

"We had a very nice visit. He is going now to see my father."

"I'm certain they will enjoy their time together." A frown marred her face. "I wonder why Mr. Bell was in London. It seems rather early for a break in his school term at Oxford."

Margaret looked about, aware of the servants milling in the foyer. She took her aunt's hand and pulled her into the empty drawing room. The older woman easily followed, likely aware Margaret had something she needed to share privately.

Once they were alone, behind closed doors, Margaret began speaking.

"He came to see if you had anything to send north for me. He is headed to say goodbye to my father." Margaret swallowed back tears. "He is quite ill, Aunt, and once he says farewell to Papa, Mr. Bell is heading to Cadiz to be with Frederick."

Her aunt covered her mouth with her hands. "Spain?"

"Yes." Margaret nodded. "His doctor has told him that he must move to a warmer climate, with clean, fresh air for his lungs."

"Oh my." Aunt Shaw moved forward and grabbed her upper arms. "Did he tell you what he was suffering from?"

"No." She shook her head. "Nor did I ask."

"That was proper, Margaret." Aunt Shaw pulled Margaret into her arms. "Oh, I am so very sorry, my dear. I know how much you care for him."

"Yes," Margaret whispered into her aunt's shoulder. "It is difficult to imagine my life without Mr. Bell popping in to say hello."

"Oh my dear what a horrible, horrible week you have had." Aunt Shaw pulled back with a smile. "Perhaps your evening with young Theodore will bring some relief from your sadness?"

Margaret nodded, but knew he could not heal the pain. Theodore was not John, and she would likely never see Mr. Bell alive again. London was no longer feeling like an oasis in her desert of despair. Instead, it seemed to only remind her of what she had lost.

"Margaret!" Edith's voice carried through the house, and even through the closed doors of the drawing room.

"I better go to her," Margaret said. "She went up to choose a gown for the evening."

As she was reaching for the door, her hand grabbed her hand. "I understand Theodore is not your first choice of suitors. In fact, I will respect your decision to not see him again after this evening. Tonight… please just be friendly and kind."

"Of course I shall, Aunt!" Margaret agreed. "I always enjoy the theater, and even if Theo is odious, George and his girl will be there."

"That is a fine outlook, young lady! A fine attitude."

"Margaret!" Edith yelled again.

"I better go up before she yells down the house." Margaret chuckled and left the drawing room, stopped short in the foyer by Becky, holding a large vase of flowers.

"Miss Margaret, these were just delivered for you. Along with this." Becky handed her a small folded note

"How lovely!" Margaret said.

It was a huge grouping of colorful, heavily scented blooms. She leaned forward and took a deep whiff of a white rose. They were almost too grand for the vase they were in. They had been sent to illustrate wealth, not love or some sort of attachment as none of her favorite flowers were represented.

Just as Margaret was opening the note, her aunt joined her.

"Becky you could place those on the piano in the drawing room." Margaret looked to her aunt with a slight smile. "Then we may all enjoy them."

"Indeed." As Becky passed by, Aunt Shaw leaned forward and smelled one of the creamy dahlias. "Who are they from?"

"Theodore."

"Ah- ha!" Aunt smiled as if in victory.

Margaret quickly scanned the note. "He writes that he is looking forward to our evening."

"No man that sends flowers can be entirely odious," Aunt chirped.

"True," Margaret agreed.

Becky passed them and moved to the back of the house, likely the kitchen. Her aunt moved closer. "I understand he is not Mr. Thornton, but surely you can give the man a fighting chance."

"I shall, Aunt." _Not really…_ "Please understand I need time to heal my heart."

"Of course, of course."

"Margaret!" Edith was now standing at the top of the stairs. "Why are you not answering me?"

Margaret laughed. "I am coming Edith. I have had some…. distractions."

She turned and climbed the staircase toward Edith, her mind whirling with all the oddities of the day. She still had no idea what the time was, but she had a feeling she needed to get moving or she would not be ready in time for dinner with Aunt Shaw. The evening ahead would likely present even more emotional challenges, but Margaret had no choice but to face it head on, and hope that it passed quickly.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Two hours later than expected, the train carrying John to London finally pulled into the station nearest his destination of Harley Street. Encountering engine issues had not been figured into his plan for the day. Sitting on the tracks awaiting repairs had been mind-numbing and created a heightened sense of anxiety and worry. He wanted to get to Margaret, felt a definite urgency to be with her again. Once he decided Friday was the day to get to London, to get to _her,_ nothing got in his way… except a broken railroad engine.

He had brought along only his small valise with a change of clothes for only two days, and his grooming case, so when the train parked, he was ready to immediately disembark and hail a carriage for hire. Others had the same idea, but his height served its purpose and he quickly caught the attention of a driver. Once directions were given, he climbed aboard and rested against the seat.

His heart was beating so hard, he feared he was having some sort of attack, but hoped it was just nervous energy. He was exceedingly excited to again be in Margaret's company, but he was equally worried what her reaction to his arrival might be. Her father believed her to be angry when she left Milton just one week ago. Had her anger cooled, or would he still face a much-deserved tongue lashing?

He tapped the chest pocket of his frock coat for perhaps the thirtieth time making certain Margaret's birthday gift was still secure. He shifted on the worn seat of the cab, unable to remain sedentary much longer. He had paced the aisles of the nearly deserved first class train car during the duration of the time it took for the engine repair, but still he felt a prickly sort of energy pulsating through him.

Closing his eyes, he took some deep breaths to calm himself. He had to be relaxed when he saw her, if he was not he might well scare her off. She had seen his temper, been rather offended by it, but she had never seen him agitated as he was now. He popped open his eyes and watched houses pass by, counting the number of doors he saw, the number of red flowers, anything to help him relax.

Within ten minutes of leaving the station, he arrived at Mrs. Shaw's home in Harley Street. He quickly paid the hired driver and watched the man pull away. The streetlamps were lit, as the remnants of the light of day began to dim and darkness took over the sky. Smoke from the chimneys blanketed the sky above the home, and he needed to get inside and enjoy the warmth of their fireplace. John looked at the red front door of the home, knowing Margaret was likely somewhere behind it. Was she warming herself in front of a fire?

 _It was now or never!_ John straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath before walking up the narrow path between well landscaped shrubs and flowers which had begun to change to their fall colors. The house was well lit, indicating people were in for the evening. He hoped Margaret was there.

An opportunity to change his clothes into something fresh would have been welcomed, but he would make the best of it. He ran a hand through his hair, hopefully smoothing it rather than ruffling it, and then scrubbed his face with his hands. After another deep breath, he rapped the door knocker, loudly, but not too loudly.

The butler, a very gray, stooped older man, opened the door. At first he looked like a stern, professional gatekeeper, but his visage softened upon recognition. "Good Evening, Mr. Thornton."

"Hello, Busby. I am here to see Miss Hale."

"They are eating dinner at present, sir." He stepped aside while opening the door wider. "If you would care to wait?"

"Yes." John stepped into the home, relieved to have been allowed inside. He had been concerned Busby might have been given orders to bar his entry.

After he handed the butler his hat and gloves, Busby waved John toward the formal drawing room. "Have you a card, sir?"

"A card?" John asked, with a scoff. "You just said my name at the door."

"Yes, sir." The butler cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Miss Margaret is dining with Mrs. Shaw. Mrs. Shaw is highly offended by disorder and interruptions at dinner. I would like Miss Margaret to know you are here as soon as I may. I believe a card would alert her without undue… irritation… to my employer."

John nodded. "I now understand." He reached into the pocket of his frockcoat and removed his wallet. He pulled a calling card out and handed it to the older man.

"Very good. I shall alert Miss Margaret you are awaiting her."

John nodded and set his valise on the floor inside the door of the drawing room and began his wait. He allowed what he planned to say to run through his head, practicing the answers to questions he anticipated her asking. Of course, it would likely not go exactly as he expected, unfortunately life did not work the way he expected. Finding Margaret, on a business trip may have been the biggest- and best surprise of all.

The day had been long and the train ride tedious. He should be tired and sitting on a comfortable chair in front of the fire, but instead he paced, and worried about her reception. He wondered what was taking so long. Would Mrs. Shaw allow Margaret to see him? He shook his head clear of that thought. She was now of legal age to make her own decisions, surely she would see him. Wouldn't she? He checked his pocket watch and sighed.

He stopped mid-stride as the door finally began to open. Would it be Margaret entering or the butler telling him to leave? He held his breath, and schooled his features into a serene look, preparing inside himself for whatever was about to come.

It was Margaret who entered the room. She was dressed in a dark pink, multi-tiered gown covered in fancy, expensive lace. The bodice was too low for his taste, exposing her beautiful, creamy porcelain skin. She had done something different with her hair again, parting it in the middle and braiding it on the sides. The woman could be wearing a bedsheet and still be the most handsome woman of his acquaintance.

"Hello," he said.

She did not answer, instead stared at him, a blank look upon her striking face. He had come to take for granted her fine beauty, being with her, loving her every day. Having been away from her, he was hit again by her loveliness.

Margaret closed the drawing room door by leaning back against it. The conversation she was about to share with John Thornton was not something she wanted her family or servants to overhear. She was not certain she wanted to hear it herself. Her heart was throbbing so powerfully, she could hear the beats in her ears, making her a bit light headed. She waited for him to begin, and when he did not immediately speak, she decided to take the lead.

"Over the past seven days, I have often wondered what I would say to you, if I ever saw you again. I did not expect to see you in my aunt's drawing room, though." She moved further into the room. "I thought perhaps we would meet as casual acquaintances on New Street, but never imagined I would find you here."

He moved several footsteps closer to her. "I arrived just this evening."

His voice washed over her like a warm stream of water. How she had missed him!

"Have you eaten?" Her voice was thick. She was just being polite, as she would with any guest, or so she tried to tell herself.

"Yes," John answered quietly. "The maids kindly packed food for my trip."

Her legs were shaky, just as quivery as her insides, and she feared if she did not sit soon, she might end up on the floor. She chose her usual seat, and waved him to sit across from her.

She licked her dry lips and swallowed. "And… are you here on mill business?"

"No, Margaret." He shook his head as he sat. "I am here for you."

Fear gripped her suddenly, overriding the anxiety his visit was causing. "Is father well?"

"Yes." He nodded. "I saw him just last evening and he is quite well." He folded his hands in his lap. "He is missing you, though, and hopes you will soon return to Milton." He looked up. "As do I."

She felt relief at hearing her father was well, but remained confused by John's visit. His last letter had been rather blunt, so why was he here?

"I am surprised you are here on a Friday, a workday. Mr. Bell told me just this afternoon that your mill, and the others of Milton are in operation again. Are you not needed there?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. However, _I_ needed to see _you_. Today was the soonest I could get away."

"Why?" she whispered.

"Why what?"

She cleared her throat, hoping to sound stronger. Hope was beginning to bubble in her heart. Could he have changed his mind about her?

"Why do you need to see me? A week ago you wanted _nothing_ to do with me any longer. What has changed?" The reminder of her hurt was enough to bring strength back in her voice.

A sudden thought popped in her head.

"Have you perchance seen Mr. Bell recently?"

He shook his head. "No. Not since he was last in Milton visiting you and your father." He frowned. "Was that not a month ago?"

"You have not spoken with him since?" she pressed.

"I have not," he said with a firm shake of his head.

If that was true, and as far as she knew he had never lied to her, John would not know yet of her inheritance from Mr. Bell. If he had, it would make sense that he would rush to her side, but not knowing she was now an heiress, and owner of the buildings that housed his business… well, there was no business or financial excuse for him to be here.

"I see." She would not say anything else until she knew the reason for his visit.

"You are dressed for an evening out," he said abruptly. His eyes darkened and he smiled softly at her. "You look beautiful as always."

She was not nearly as well dressed as she had been the night of the Mill Master's Dinner. Her hair had no fancy baubles and she was not wearing any make-up as she had that night. He had barely glanced at her then, when she had tried so hard to please him, and to make him proud to be courting her.

"Thank you." She paused. "I am going to the theater this evening."

"With the Lennoxes?"

"No." She shook her head. "Another gentleman asked me to attend with him."

She saw his jaw clench. She should be honest with him, that Theo was not anyone she was interested in, but decided instead to allow him to stew. According to Fanny, he had been entertaining Ann Latimer as of late. Why should he not experience the pain of jealousy as she had had to endure?

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. For the first time in their acquaintance, she felt uncomfortable in his presence. She could not look at him, because his facial expression was so loving she wanted to cry.

"You asked why I have come to see you," he finally said. "It is quite simple, Margaret Anne Hale, I have come hundreds of miles to beg your apology and implore you to give me another chance to earn your love."

She had prayed for this very thing before sleeping each night here in London. She loved him so dearly, so completely, but could she trust him not to hurt her again?

"Why?" she rasped.

"Quite simply, I love you. More than my mill, more than anything in my life." His voice was thick and hoarse, but he remained staring at her as he said the words she had been longing for. "I made the worst mistake of my life when I sent you that letter last week, when I allowed Mr. Latimer to treat me as a puppet and control my strings."

To her, the last week had felt like a lifetime.

She slowly, sadly shook her head. "You say you love me, yet you chose your mill over me."

He nodded curtly and then stared down at his hands. "Worst decision of my life."

"Why?"

He laughed, such a wonderful sound that she had missed since the strike began so many weeks earlier. "That is your question of the night. I made the choice based on other people's needs and expectations, not my own. I want you, Margaret, and if I can have you and the mill, so be it. But if I were forced to choose again, it would be you. Only you."

She swallowed back tears. He might not be as poetic as Byron but he was saying words that made her heart begin to heal. "You needed to choose the best way to support your family, and you did so."

She was trying very hard to be rational and calm. Inside she was ready to collapse at any moment and run into his arms, accept him despite the pain he had caused her. She could not give in that easily. She knew how she felt, and although she was so very happy he had not changed his feelings for her, the trust issue would not easily be resolved.

"I should have considered other options," he continued. "When I learned the Irish were not coming as planned, I panicked."

"You were already shunning me before you learned the Irish were not coming," she reminded him, bluntly. "Why… I am not certain we shared ten words the whole of the Mill Master's Dinner evening."

"I am sorry for that, also. I had far different plans for you and I that evening, but obviously they did not come to fruition." He shook his head in frustration. "I wish I could blame Latimer, but I made the choice to accept his arrangement. A stronger, more confident man would have stood up to him. I did not. "

She remembered what Mr. Bell said about the expected marriage proposal. That had been his plan for Thursday last. There was nothing weak about John Thornton, but she was not willing to defend him to himself.

"Why did you plans change? What changed between the time you dropped me off at home, and I arrived for the dinner?" She wanted him to provide a full explanation of his reasons.

He sighed and stood. "Latimer caught me before the party and set the rules for extending me more financial assistance, which included spending time with his daughter. I have since learned that was manipulation on her part." A wry grin formed on his lips. "She saw me as a prime prospect."

 _You are._

"Fanny sent me her wedding invitation," she interjected. "She wrote that you and Miss Latimer were now a couple. Is that not true?"

"It is not," he said firmly. "We were _never_ a couple. I had hoped to make a show of it so her father would be satisfied, and then once he was paid in full I would come for you, as I am now."

She was astonished that he had thought a plan such as that would work. "You have paid him off already? In a week?"

"No, not yet, Margaret, but as I told my mother, I realized very quickly that my life… well it is simply not worth living without you a part of it."

Margaret could imagine the incredulous reaction of Mrs. Thornton to that statement. She felt exactly the same way.

"What will Ann do once she realizes you were not in earnest with your attention?"

She really did not care what Ann thought. Learning she had manipulated her father to try to snare John was enough to make Margaret hate her. Margaret wondered if that was what they taught at the fancy finishing school. _How to find a husband_.

"I have been honest with her," he answered. "She is aware of where my heart rests. I made it clear almost immediately what my plan was."

She opened her mouth to ask why he had given the courtesy of explaining his plan to _Ann_ and not her, when a knock sounded on the drawing room door. Busby walked in and announced another visitor for her, causing her to stand. She glanced at the clock, pleased that Theo was arriving on time. She needed to think through this conversation, far away from John.

"Where are you staying Mr. Thornton?" She could not call him John. Not just yet.

"I was hoping here," he answered.

She nodded in agreement. "I will see to that before I leave."

"You are still going?" he asked, eyes wide, jaw hanging open.

"Yes." She nodded repeatedly. "I made a _commitment_ ," she touched her chest, "and _I_ follow through on such things."

Theo Peregrine then sauntered in, smiling widely, carrying a small ball of fur in his hand.

"Margaret! How spectacular you look this evening!" He stopped just in front of her and with his free hand took hers and kissed the back of it. "This kitten is from my mother." He laughed as it suddenly tried to escape by climbing upon his shoulder. "She said you were enamored with this one when you visited last night."

He snatched the little orange furry creature from his back, and handed it to her. She looked at the small kitten and smiled at Theo. "Thank you. How kind of your mother." She turned toward the piano, remembering the gift which arrived earlier. "I also must thank you for the lovely flowers."

"My pleasure." He bowed gallantly.

John was soon standing near her, she could feel him behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, curious how he was reacting to Theo's arrival. The muscle worked in his jaw, and she doubted his chin could tip much higher. Ah yes, he was angry, but he would not lash out at the viscount, or her for that matter. She would hear about it later, she imagined, but for the moment John held his tongue.

Margaret decided to make the introductions. "Theodore Peregrine, may I please introduce you to John Thornton of Milton?"

John was the first to reach out a hand, brushing the side of her hip as he did so. "It is a pleasure, sir."

"Milton, eh?" Theo looked between the two of them as he shook John's hand. "You're here for a visit, just like Margaret?"

"I am," John answered. "I arrived just a short time ago."

"Wonderful, wonderful. I do hope you enjoy your time here," Theo said. She could detect no animosity toward John. "Margaret, we must be on our way if we wish to be on time for the play."

She tensed when Theo placed his hand on her waist to guide her along. The only man who should be touching her so familiarly was standing only a few paces away. She glanced at John, pleased his face was even tenser than she felt.

She looked back at Theo with a brief smile. "Yes, of course."

"You are determined to go?" John asked. He moved ahead of her, cutting off her progress toward the door, with his height.

Oh, he smelled so good! She had missed the scent of him.

"I am." She glanced between the two very handsome vying for her attention. Finally when neither was budging, she sighed. "Theo, might I meet you at the carriage please?"

"Of course, Margaret. Your wish is my command!" Theo nodded curtly and shot John an arrogant smirk. He left the drawing room with a satisfied swagger, but did not close the door behind him. Once the sound of the front door was heard, John finally spoke.

"Please stay with me, Margaret," John begged. "We must talk."

He reached out and gently took her free hand, rubbing tantalizing circles in her palm. Despite the wonderful sensations it sent through her body, she would not be swayed. Yes, she wanted to stay and talk to John, to decide how they might get passed his mistake, but at the same time, she had agreed to attend the theater, with Theo.

"I cannot." She slowly, reluctantly pulled her hand away, and would not quite meet his eyes. "I agreed to attend with him, and I shall." She looked up then. He had moved so very close, and it was hard not to take the single step that would place her in his arms again. Oh, how she wanted that! Instead she said, "We will speak more in the morning. I must drop off this kitten with Becky and then I will ask her to ready a room for you."

"But you cannot tolerate cats," he stated quietly. "They make you sneeze and your eyes water."

He remembered their silly conversation about pets so many months ago. He knew her so well!

"You are perfectly correct." She chuckled. "I will leave this little animal in London for Edith's child to grow up with and love. She does not mind the wee beasties." She tipped her head to him. What she would not give to kiss him! Instead, she said, "I will see you in the morning. We will speak of the future then."

Without another word, she stepped away and left the drawing room, a bit surprised John did not try to follow her. She left him standing alone, much as he had left her a week earlier, alone, in anger and pain, having been jilted and set aside. She quickly found Becky, dropped off the kitten with the startled little maid, and then requested a room be prepared for John.

Aunt Shaw would learn of John's presence soon enough. Margaret had not alerted the dining table who she was leaving to meet, uncertain if it really was John Thornton to see her. She wondered how long he planned to stay. Likely Sunday he would leave again, to get back to his mill. Would she go with him? Could she forgive him so quickly?

This had already been one of the most complicated and emotionally draining days of her life, and it was far from over. She still had to pretend to enjoy the company of pompous George and egotistical Theo. With a deep sigh, she hurriedly shrugged into her evening cloak and gloves and rushed to the coach for the trip to the theater.

The theater was packed with a crush of people. Theo explained many had come for the closing of the Exhibition and stayed on for several extra days, enjoying the diversions which only London could provide. She had no reason not to believe him, to have so many at a theater production in October, not during the heart of the Season, was quite peculiar. It was fine with Margaret, however, as she loved to people watch and there was plenty to see once they left the Peregrine carriage.

Theo was quite obliging, seeing to her every need, without being as obnoxious as he had been while at his home the night before. She also could sense no liquor on his breath which was a pleasant relief.

"Is he your lover, then?" Theo asked Margaret when they had a moment apart from George and Willa, his companion.

"Yes," she answered quietly. _John is my lover. My only lover_.

They were in a rather secluded spot outside the theater, waiting for the opportunity to enter the building behind the long line of people. George and Willa had gone in ahead of them, planning to meet with Willa's sister and her husband. Theo had been hesitant to fight the crowd, content to wait until most attendees were inside to enter. They had prime seats, so there was no need to rush, which was quite fine with her.

"And, the two of you have had a falling out?" Theo guided her to the back of the line. "That is why you are in London, not Milton."

"In a way, yes," she answered intentionally vague. This was really none of his concern. "I did not expect him to come today or I would not have agreed to come with you this evening." It would not do to make it seem she was being disingenuous in her intentions, although in truth, she was not particularly interested in developing a relationship, other than a friendship, with Theo.

"Would you have told me about Thornton, or simply led me to believe I had a chance?" His voice was rather rough, nothing like the playful tone she had become accustomed to.

Surprise rippled through her. "You are truly interested in me?" She laughed, so surprised by his admission.

"I am." He nodded curtly, his face quite serious. "Although, to be perfectly honest with you Miss Hale, I do _not_ plan to wed anytime soon, I would certainly have enjoyed spending more time with you."

They reached the door of the theater and he handed the doorman their tickets.

"Thank you," she said. "I am rather surprised, sir. I truly believed you asked me tonight out of politeness rather than any true interest in forming a relationship."

"You are perhaps the last modest, unpretentious woman in the whole of London!" He hooted. "You are a beautiful woman. Do you not realize that? Or has living in the shadow of Edith as the pampered child prevented you from understanding your worth?"

Margaret wanted to chastise him for being critical of Edith, but she could not, because sadly, he was right.

"I cannot deny you are correct, but I am content with the lot in life I have been given," she said with a laugh. "Mr. Thornton made a poor choice last week. I thought it best to leave Milton for some time."

"And he came after you to bring you home?" Theo whistled through his teeth. "He is a romantic, Margaret! He must be in love, tucking his tail between his legs and coming to fetch you!"

"Is that what you think?" She chuckled, imagining the tall John with a long, skinny dog's tail.

"Yes, indeed. A man who will eat his pride and take an eight hour train trip to follow after you… well he is one you should forgive."

They were just entering the seating area. She allowed him to lead them to her seats

She laughed. "How do you know I was not the one at fault?"

He laughed. "You would not have fled Milton if you had erred. Besides," he laughed again, "Is it not always the man's fault?"

She laughed.

He paused at the end of their row of seats and faced her with a broad, charming smile. "Well, allow me to say this. If things do not sort out between you and Mr. Thornton, I would be glad to entertain you when you are again in London. As long as you realize commitment will not be forthcoming."

She laughed again, rolling her eyes at him. She was his here just to decorate his arm, it seemed.

 _Why were men such fools?_

John was collecting himself as he awaited the maid Margaret called Becky to show him to his room. He felt abandoned by Margaret, and wondered if that was how she had felt after reading his letter. He had missed her this past week, desperately, but knowing he would come for her had made the situation easier for him. _She_ had not know his plan, however, just as he did not know what she was doing with Theodore Peregrine. The memory of him touching her moments earlier was enough to make him want to punch the wall, but instead he continued to pace, clenching and unclenching his fist. He felt as if he were in enemy territory, being in Mrs. Shaw's home and knew he had to be on his toes.

He realized the main error in his plan had been not including Margaret in planning for the future needs of the mill, and shunning her when he should have been embracing her and relying upon her for strength. If she were here, he would tell her just that. But she was not, she was across town with another man. _Damn!_

The drawing room door opened again. Expecting to see the maid, John stood, surprised instead to see Mrs. Shaw walk through the door, a pinched look on her face. Her look was almost as effective as his mother's… almost

"Mr. Thornton, how pleased we are that you have come to see Margaret. Finally." Mrs. Shaw said, followed closely by a heavily with child Edith, and Captain Lennox.

Edith was a beautiful woman, but now she seemed to have glow of happiness about her. Captain Lennox looked equally happy. Margaret had told them they were each convinced the child would be a lad.

He moved forward and extended his hand to each of them. He needed to be as cordial as he might possibly be. "Thank you for allowing me to stay here this evening. Mrs. Lennox you look very well."

"I look _big_ , Mr. Thornton." She laughed at herself and half sat, half collapsed into a nearby, overstuffed chair.

He had never socialized with a pregnant woman before. There were women in such a state in his employ, but he had never had conversations with them, except when offering them less physically intensive tasks as their time drew near.

"Brandy, Thornton?" Captain Lennox asked him, holding up a full, crystal decanter.

"Yes, thank you." John sat once Mrs. Shaw found her seat.

He had a feeling he was about to be ambushed by the trio. Last night, Mr. Hale's censure had hurt particularly because John had come to think of him as a mentor. These three would not have the same effect on him, but he would respect what they had to say and plan his future accordingly.

The captain handed him a snifter full of brandy and then sat near his wife. John watched Edith grabbed her husband's hand and kiss it, leaving hers entangled within his grasp. The more he saw the two, the more believed Margaret's comment about the importance of having a love match, not an arranged marriage.

"I hope you have come to London to apologize to my niece for your abdominal behavior, Mr. Thornton," Mrs. Shaw began the conversation. She began to shake her head. "I told Margaret when she went to Milton that, as a manufacturer, you would always have to put your mill work first. You have proven me correct." She frowned. "Sadly."

He took a long drink of brandy and swallowed back the sting. "I did err," he admitted. "I should have included Miss Hale in my decisions about the mill's future, as I intended her to be a very vital part of mine."

Mrs. Shaw sniffed. "That is hardly the impression you left her with."

John hung his head and stared into his glass.

"We understand, Thornton, that your business has been… rough… as of late," Captain Lennox picked up the conversation. "It is quite important to us…" he looked to his wife and mother-in-law, " _vitally_ important really, that Margaret continue to live equal to, or greater than the manner in which she was raised. We would understand if that was the reason you cut her off, your inability to support her in such a fashion, but surely you would have realized that long before becoming so involved with her?"

John did not like discussing his financial matters with anyone, but he had sort of swept himself into a corner and now must prove to these people he would, and could, provide for her. It would be tight for some time, he conceded that to himself and his mother before coming to London, but again, his happiness came from having Margaret as part of his life.

"I fully understand your concern. I share the same worry for my sister who is soon to wed a fellow mill man." John nodded. "A week ago I was _not_ certain I could support her, or myself for that matter. Now, in the reinforced position I am in, I have no doubt Marlborough Mills will continue to grow and thrive well into the future, thus providing for a family."

Captain Lennox nodded, satisfied by John's answer.

"Mr. Thornton," Edith began, shifting herself into a different position. "My cousin has been _very_ distressed by your behavior. Indeed the first two days she was at Harley Street she refused to even leave her room!"

"Edith!" Mrs. Shaw sputtered.

"Mother, what is the point of pretense? It is true! Margaret would not even speak with _me_. Me! We deduced it had something to do with you, as she said her father was fine, but it was not until the following Monday when we learned the truth."

"I will apologize and take responsibility for any pain I have caused. I have had a difficult week as well, Mrs. Lennox. I believed, at the time, my decision was for the best. Now, I realize I was quite wrong in my thinking."

"Who is to say you will not fail again?" Mrs. Shaw stormed. "Will she arrived distraught again in a fortnight? I want to know that I can trust you with my niece." She slapped the arm of her chair.

A weaker man would have cringed at her outburst, but he took it in stride, understanding her concern for her niece, and familiar with similar outbursts from his own mother.

"Mr. Hale and I had a very long conversations last night." Mrs. Shaw might think she was the most important person in Margaret's life, but John knew otherwise. "Mrs. Shaw did the commodore never choose service to the crown over your needs? According to Margaret, you were married a very long time. Surely everyone is entitled to a mistake in judgement." He turned toward Edith. "Mrs. Lennox? Is your husband perfect?"

She snorted. "Of course… not." Then she laughed as the captain frowned. "No one is perfect Mr. Thornton, but you must do better by Margaret than you have!"

"Theodore Peregrine is a viscount, you know?" Mrs. Shaw asked him. "He and Margaret have known one another since she was little."

"That may be so, Mrs. Shaw, but unlike the viscount, I love your niece." He turned to look at Edith. "Mrs. Lennox, you are absolutely accurate that I must do better by Margaret." He nodded curtly. "And, I shall. While I do not hold a fine title, I will do everything I can, in my power, to never let her down or be in despair again."

"Eh, Thornton, all men make mistakes. I think it is because we have not yet learned how to read the minds of women yet." He winked and then saluted John with his glass, finishing his drink in one swallow.

Edith snorted. "I am forever grateful that you cannot!" She snorted again and then laughed. "I have cursed you in my head more than you wish to know since this child of yours has begun kicking me."

"Kicking you?"

"Forgive Edith's talk," Mrs. Shaw said quickly to John. "Daughter, that is hardly conversation to share in mixed company!" She huffed and rolled her eyes and huffed again.

"Oh mother! John will be family soon enough."

"Who is to say Margaret will accept his apology?" Mrs. Shaw thundered. "I am not certain _I_ would."

"You would, too," Edith argued. "Lord, the fights you and Papa had when I was small!" She chuckled. "You would throw things. He would storm out and in a few hours come right back and he would apologize and you would apologize over tears and then all was calm until he angered you again."

Mrs. Shaw snorted, and then they all laughed.

"My parents were much the same," John volunteered. "It seemed my father could do nothing right some days." He grinned. "Poor Fanny. She would hide under her bed until my mother went into her personal sitting room, slamming the door behind her. My father never left the house, and more often than not he would patiently wait out her tantrum."

"Yes! That is exactly what it is! A tantrum." Captain Lennox laughed. "Edith is good to me, so very tolerant of my evenings with the lads, but once in awhile…"

"Oh, and you _never_ yell when I spend a bit too much on a gown?" She rolled her lovely blue eyes before giggling.

The captain grinned. "It has been known to happen." He pointed at Edith, with a loving grin upon his face. "But not very often."

"True. You are a fine man, indeed." She kissed his other hand, which she still held. "I believe it is time to retire, Captain Lennox."

"Yes, I must report to the office tomorrow for a new assignment which I will begin on Monday next." Lennox stood and gave his wife a helping hand up, and then gently rubbed the back of her waist.

"Good evening, Mr. Thornton." Edith tipped her head toward him before walking out of the drawing room, likely to her bed chamber above the stairs.

"Help yourself to some more brandy is you wish," the captain offered on his way out the door.

"No, thank you. I only have one glass an evening after the mill. This was very good." John took a sip to prove his point.

"Good luck with Margaret, old man. You already know it, but she's got a bit of a soft spot for you."

John could hear the captain whistling as his boots hit the stairs. That left John alone with Mrs. Shaw. He finished off the last of the brandy. It was affecting him more than his glass at home seemed to.

"Mr. Thornton, I trust Becky has made suitable arrangements for you?"

"She has, Mrs. Shaw. Your home is very comfortable."

Mrs. Shaw stood, and out of politeness, he did the same. "I believe I shall be for bed also. She frowned at him. "Do you intend to wait up for Margaret?"

He grinned. "Aye, that had been my intention."

Mrs. Shaw clucked her tongue. "I assure you, sir, she is quite safe with the Peregrine brothers."

He widened his eyes. "Brothers?"

Mrs. Shaw chuckled. "Yes, she went as Theodore's guest, but they were traveling with his brother George and his soon to be betrothed Willa Blaine."

"I see," he answered.

As she was leaving the room, she rested her hand on his shoulder. "Margaret is not _like_ a daughter to me. In my heart she _is_ my daughter. I want only the best for her, and if you cannot be that man, then perhaps you should leave prior to her homecoming this evening."

"I will not leaving London with Margaret," he stated, crossing his arms against his chest.

She chuckled again. "Well, then... you better hope she accepts your apology or you will be sleeping in my house for some time." She patted his shoulder. "Good night, John Thornton."

"Good night, Mrs. Shaw."


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Shaw Home on Harley Street, Margaret was flattered that Theo crawled out to see her to the door. It had been a very long and emotional day for Margaret, and the comedic play had been just the medicine to lighten her mood. Tomorrow would be another day of tears and frustration, she imagined, but for the moment, she was calm.

At the door, Margaret stopped and turned to Theo. "Thank you for the nice evening, _and_ the flowers _and_ the kitten, too."

She felt very awkward, being dropped off at the door. Henry Lennox would have escorted her inside, but he was more or less part of the family. John would have come inside, because he was staying at Harley Street, but even in Milton he walked inside to wish her a good night and say hello to her father. Theo… well this was a different situation.

"You are quite welcome, lovely lady." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. He gently grasped her head and tipped his head low to meet her eyes. "Remember my offer."

She shook her head, a small smile playing on the corner of her lips. "I am afraid I am not yet spinster enough to settle for casual affairs, and as you are not in the market for a wife, I fear you would be wasting my time."

He snorted and grabbed his chest. "I am wounded!" He laughed. "I have been called many things, but never a waste of one's time." He laughed harder.

She flushed. "I just meant…"

"Oh Margaret Hale, what a delight you are!" He cupped her shoulders. "I fully understand, but _if_ you should change your mind, I would be pleased to stroll around town with you again."

"Thank you."

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek again and then moved his face very close to hers. "I would kiss you on the lips but I would not want the tall gentleman staring at us through the window to come and beat me to a pulp."

"No, do not look," he said as she moved her head. "It would be better if he did not know we saw him." He stepped back and bowed deeply. "I wish you all the very best, Miss Hale." He gave her a cocky grin and a wink before whistling down the walk back to his carriage.

She waited until Theo's ride pulled away to open the door. She fought the urge to glance at the front window and see if John was, indeed, watching. She had hoped he was tucked into bed sleeping soundly, but apparently he had other plans.

The moment she turned the door knob, Busby was there to greet her.

"Good evening, Miss Margaret." He closed the door and reached for her cloak and gloves. "I trust you had a pleasant evening?"

"Thank you, I did." She gave the older man a smile.

"Your visitor from Milton has been waiting on you, rather restlessly, in the drawing room," Busby whispered.

She sighed. "I shall see to him. You may retire for the night."

"Very well." He bowed and then walked toward the back of the house, likely to the servant's quarters.

She was in a hurry to get to him, yet, she did not wish to seem so anxious. He deserved a tongue-lashing, and she hoped she was up for the challenge, even after the day she had had. How does one scold someone who owns their heart? How can she ever forgive him for breaking it?

John was standing near the door as she entered the drawing room. Having divested of his frockcoat, cravat and waistcoat, he stood before her in his fine linen shirt, opened at the collar. Her senses reeled and again she had to hold back the urge to rush forward and touch his naked neck. She had never seen a man's naked neck, or chest. Her father, and brother were the exception, of course. Even the men that toiled in the mills day in and day out wore a tie, covering their skin.

He was the finest looking man she had ever seen, muscular from hauling cotton bales, and a bit tan from the sunshine, she found it hard to concentrate. All she could think about was touching the dark hair peeking out from the top of his shirt and whether it was a soft as the hair upon his head or prickly like his face in the late evenings.

He took a sip of the liquid from his glass and then set it on the table and moved closer to her. She pondered her choices. She could tell him goodnight and leave. She could close the door and rush ahead to touch him, or she could close the door and see how the scene played out.

She did not want to leave him, nor did her proper upbringing suggest touching him would be the best plan. She did, however, close the door and begin talking, nervously.

"You did not need to wait up for me," she said.

"I wanted to be certain you were home safely," he answered softly.

"Tonight, but none of the other evenings we have been apart?" she blurted. _Where had that censure come from?_

He tipped up his chin. "I have thought of you nearly every minute that we were apart." He was becoming defensive.

"Except the moments you were entertaining Miss Latimer," she said. _Oh, how snide! This was not like her at all._

"Perhaps at those times even _more._ " He walked directly to her. "Did you allow Peregrine to touch your body as you did here, _right in front of my face_ , before you left?"

"You saw that, did you?" She raised her brows. "He guided me into the theater and to my seat using similar touches." She had no reason to be less than honest. "I did not touch him."

"And your hand?" He took her right one. "Did he hold your hand in the dark theater?"

"He did not."

His thumb rubbed circles on her palm, much as he had done earlier, before Theo had arrived. She again experienced the warmth that only his touch could create within every inch of her body.

He reached forward with his free hand and gently tipped up her chin, looking at her through darkened, almost sensuous eyes. He leaned in until his nose nearly touched hers. "And did he kiss you, Margaret?"

Her eyes lids closed on a sigh as he softly kissed her right cheek and then the left before pulling away.

"He did, just as you have now," she answered, barely audibly.

"Not like this?" His hands cupped her jaw and soon his mouth melted into hers.

She had missed this so very much, missed the pleasure his lips brought, from his kisses and words. She had missed his voice and his smell. He was the love of her life, she was certain, but quickly she reminded her confused and befuddled self that she was also furious with him.

She pulled away, slightly lightheaded and licked her lips.

"You have been the only man to ever have kissed me in such a way." Her heart was beating heavy in her throat, making it difficult to speak.

He took her hand again. "Why do you pull away from me, my love?"

"Because I am cross with you." She disentangled her hand with his and shot across the room, thinking distance might help her clear her head. "Furious, really. You ask me what I have done with Theo Peregrine, I should be asking what you did with Ann Latimer. Did you touch her, hold her hand, kiss her… or perhaps even more, just as you did to me in that alleyway?"

She was angry at herself for being so easily swayed by his soft lips and pretty words.

"No, no and no!" His voice was rising.

"Shhh. You will wake the house!" she scolded.

"You cheapen what we shared, Margaret, what we have built, you and me. _Us_." He closed the distance between them with just three long strides. "I love you. I am here because I cannot continue on without you in my life, day in and day out. I want to kiss you and hold you and fall asleep with you in my arms every night for the rest of my life." He blew out a puff of air and then ran a shaky hand through the dark locks.

She remained mute, uncertain what he wanted her to say. She felt exactly as he did, and she believed him, she really did, but that did not change what he had done, or his method of delivery.

"Have you ever lied to me, Margaret?" he asked.

"I have not." She shook her head, a bit offended he asked such a question.

"Then tell me," he urged. "Do you love me? Do you still want me?"

She did not answer immediately. It was not an intentional plan to make him angry, but it seemed to stoke his temper. With an irate, frustrated look, he walked away from her and began to pace.

"I love you, far more than I should, considering what happened last week." He stopped pacing as she began to speak. "I do not like what you did to me, nor do I believe I can forgive your behavior… yet."

He blinked quickly and looked away, rubbing his jaw.

It hurt her heart even more to see him so upset.

"However," She walked forward and placed her hands on his forearms. His eyes met hers and seeing the obvious love he had for her, caused a shift inside her heart. "it would be rather foolish to throw away what we have developed between us, to hold some grudge that would only serve to hurt both of us."

She rested her hands on the sides of his waist and then slid against him when he pulled her near, into a hug. His chest hair served as a soft pillow against her cheek, but it was his scent which teased her senses.

When she finally pulled away, many minutes later, she said, "I trusted you, John Thornton. I gave you everything you asked for, and asked only for your love and commitment in return." She tried to keep her voice level despite how painful this was to admit.

When he opened his mouth to speak she held up her right hand.

"I know you have no romantic inclination toward Ann Latimer. If you did, you would have courted her long before you and I met here, at Harley Street. Ann is likely to you the same as Henry or Theo are to me. Simple friends."

He scoffed. "She is _Fanny's_ friend. It was her manipulation that separated us."

"That is not true," Margaret said, frustrated that he refused to claim his part in the situation. "It was _your_ choice to agree to that very manipulation which ended our courtship."

"I had no choice-"he began only to be cut off.

"That is pure rot, John Thornton!" she sputtered, crossing her arms against her chest. "You had a very _simple_ choice. You could have told me, _to my face_ , what Latimer was proposing and _together_ we would have devised a much more satisfactory outcome."

"You are utterly and completely correct," he immediately agreed. "Sadly, I realized that a bit too late. But I promise you, from now on, Margaret," he took her hand in his, "I pledge that you will be my partner, my helpmate in all that I do. In the home, in the mill and in our personal life, we will be as one." He brought her hand to his lips. "If you will agree to give me another chance, allow us to move ahead instead of looking back on my past failures, failures that I cannot apologize for sufficiently in words, I promise you I will never intentionally let you down again. You are my love, my only love. Please, please forgive me and take me back."

"I want to trust you. I want to say yes, John, more than you can imagine." She slowly shook her head. "I need some time to think through all of this. I am so glad you have come to me, here in London." She squeezed his hand.

"What must I do to prove to you I am in earnest?" he asked quietly.

"Be patient with me?" she asked. "Simply be the man you say you wish to be, the man you have always been with me until just recently."

He nodded silently.

"I must go to bed," she with a deep sigh. "It has been a very emotional day for me, John. Between Mr. Bell coming, and you arriving, and Edith's woes and Theo…"

"It has been a long one for me as well." He took both her hands. "May I hold you for another moment? I need to know you are real, that I may still have hope for a future with you."

She nodded and easily shifted into his arms. She needed his comfort, too. This courting business was much more difficult than she had expected it to be. He held her tightly, and did not attempt to kiss her or touch her except to hold her against his body.

"I love you," he whispered.

She pulled back and cupped his cheek. "I love you," she answered.

After staring each other for a few silent moments, she took his hand and led him from the drawing room to the stairs. The lights had been left glowing in the hallway and in the sconces on the stairway, which they climbed side-by-side in silence.

"Which room are you staying in?" she asked at the landing.

"The one on the end." He pointed down the narrow hallway of the second floor.

"Aunt calls that the brown room." She looked back to him. "I shall wish you a good night." She tipped her head. "We will spend the day together tomorrow if you plan to stay in London?"

"As I told your aunt and father, I do not intend to leave here without you, Margaret."

Her eyes widened. He was quite serious in his plans.

"I see. Well, good night, then," she whispered. She opened the door to her room, and looked back briefly as he walked away, toward his room, his gait steady and determined.

Margaret was not certain she would sleep at all that night, anxious about the decision she must make, and the result of _her_ choice. He was contrite and sorry. He realized his error and had come to beg forgiveness. He did not love Ann, and his choice was done for the betterment of his family and Milton. From a logical standpoint, this was the best choice, but that did not take into account the love they had for each other. He had moved from being her lover to a manufacturer, placing business first, just as her aunt and Edith and perhaps even Papa had warned would happen.

She would ask him in the morning how he planned to repay Latimer. Would the banker require immediate payment for the loan since John was no longer courting—for pretend or in truth—Ann? John had no idea of Mr. Bell's gifts to Margaret, had no understanding that marrying her would indeed bring him the money he needed to pay off the debt, and do whatever he wished to do for the mill and his family.

She was not ready to tell him about the money. She would _not_ tell him until the point where they had found common ground and she was convinced he was committed to improving their relationship. Margaret did not plan to even tell her aunt and Edith about the inheritance, at least not right away. She would tell John about Mr. Bell's illness, and relocation, but not the inheritance.

Once Becky helped her out of her dress and undid her hair, Margaret collapsed into bed, her mind awhirl. Once the light was out for the night she thought she might immediately fall asleep, so overwhelmed from all the events of the day. Instead, she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, counting sheep and trying to relax. Tomorrow would be an equally emotional day.

She hoped, prayed really, that John could be the man she needed him to be, the man she believed he was. If only she could turn back the clock eight days…

After a very long, nearly sleepless night, John was awake at his usual time, despite pulling the heavy drapes on the bed to block out the light. He was designed to operate like a well-tuned machine, even when removed from Milton.

A light knock sounded at the door and he called them in.

"Mr. Thornton, I have a tea tray for you, sir." The voice belonged to a woman.

"Thank you," he replied. "You may set it on the table near the fireplace."

He had spent some time pacing before crawling into bed. He believed he now knew the room better than the maid dropping off the tea, down to the dust accumulating on the fireplace mantle.

"Footmen will soon be bringing water for your bath," she continued. "I have filled your pitcher should you wish to tidy up. Good day, sir." With that, the door closed, leaving silence in her wake.

A bath? He had not requested one the night before, but it was quite an appealing idea. He pushed aside the bed curtains and flung his legs off the side of the high bed, stretching to the ceiling. He rubbed his hands against his face, feeling the stubble of a beard on his cheeks. He would have a shave before the bath arrived, knowing full well the rest of the house would not be awake for hours.

As soon as his tea was prepared just as he liked, the footmen knocked and began the labor intensive job of filling the bathtub. He had done it so many times for himself, for his mother and sister, that he fully understood the level of muscular strength necessary to carry the buckets. Busby, the butler, came to oversee the men.

"Thank you," John said to him. "You must have read my mind."

"Not me, sir." Busby shook his gray head. "Miss Margaret said you would appreciate a soak after the long day you had yesterday."

"She was quite right." He hid a grin behind his teacup. _She did love him_.

"Would you care for a trim?" Busby asked. "I often provide that service for Captain Lennox and would be pleased to do the same for you."

"Aye," John nodded, drinking more tea.

"I shall fetch my scissors and razor and return after your bath," Busby said.

John moved to the bureau to wash his face and shave, very pleased the pitcher water was warm against his face. Just as he finished, the tub was ready for him. He excused the footmen, capable of seeing to his own washing, and climbed into the tub.

He wondered what the day would bring, what he could do to convince Margaret his intentions were true and honest and that he would do anything for her to forgive him. So relaxed by the hot bath, he drifted off to sleep only to awake sometime later to a cold tub and wrinkled skin as the butler walked in his room whistling.

"You should have woke me up before now!" John sputtered, standing in the cold water.

"Forgive me, sir, but the bell pull was within your reach and I did not wish to disturb you. I had no idea you would return to sleep."

"And now I am freezing." John growled before wrapping his goose-pimpled skin in the large towel Busby handed him. Once dried, he knotted the towel at his waist.

"Sit by the fire and I shall cut your hair." Busby pulled out a chair for him, indifferent to John's mood. "Miss Margaret is not yet through with her morning routine, nor is Cook ready with breakfast."

John went ahead and followed Busby's suggestion, chilled

"The staff is very pleased you have come to get Miss Margaret," Busby said as he started trimming John's wet hair. "She is a special young woman. Over the years we have all come to care for greatly."

"She is, indeed a special woman."

As he clipped away, Busby continued to chatter. One particular statement caught John's attention. "How wonderful, we all thought, if you and she were married from this house."

"The staff is talking about us, are they?" He chuckled. Staff tongue wagging was the same wherever the house was, in London or in Milton.

"We all found it quite romantic, how she followed her heart to Milton. But when she came back to us… so broken hearted… well, many of us were rather angry with you. But, here you came to collect her, and all will be well. And if there was a wedding here… well how exciting would that be for all of us? To see the girl who came to us barely at nine years of age married and happy? Then we will have Miss Edith's babe to look forward to!"

"You do speak your mind, Busby!" John had to give the man credit, he was not afraid to voice his opinion.

And truly, the idea of marrying from Harley Street was _not_ a bad one. For a price, John could procure a special license and have it arranged and done before they returned together to Milton. It would take very little fuss, Edith and her aunt would be there. Perfect solution.

"Forgive me, sir, but older men must speak frankly to younger men, even if I am just the help."

"I am certain you have many, many more experiences in your life than I do," John said politely. "I appreciate your ideas as my father died when I was young. I have relied upon Mr. Bell a great deal over the years for guidance and recently Mr. Hale."

"We always like it when Mr. Bell comes to visit. He was just here yesterday, you know."

"Yes." John tipped his chin down so Busby could trim the back of his head. "Miss Hale said he stopped here before going to Milton."

"He is a fine man, Mr. Thornton," Busby said. "There we are, you look quite well, cleaned up, just fine." Busby took a wet towel and removed the excess hair from the back of John neck. "I shall help you dress, is you wish?"

"No, thank you." He looked at his hair in the mirror. "Well, done, I thank you once again. I do not employ a valet and am rather adept at dressing myself. If, however, you find yourself needing new employment, do not hesitate to come to me in Milton. I could use a bit of blunt honesty in my life."

"How kind of you, however, I have been with this household as long as you have been alive." Busby chuckled. "I will say Miss Margaret is quite fond of her maid Becky. I believe she would be willing to travel with you to the north."

Becky would be a good solution. John had no desire to have Dixon under his roof. Mr. Hale could keep her!

"I shall have Cook ready your breakfast." Busby bowed. "Good day, Mr. Thornton."

"And to you, Busby."

Someone had kindly unpackaged his bag and hung his shirts and extra pants and waistcoats. He passed by his usual black waistcoat and instead picked a new one, of sapphire blue brocade, with woven silver paisley designs through it. His cravat was the same color blue, something he was not entirely accustomed to, but spending the day with Margaret required a fine outfit.

After one final look in the mirror to make certain his hair was in place and he had not nicked himself shaving, he shrugged into his frockcoat, and tapped his interior pocket, making certain his pocketbook was still there. He tapped the opposite pocket making certain the two velvet pouches were still on his person. He had no idea what was to come that day, but he wished to be prepared.

He left his room and went directly to the dining room. He was not exceptionally hungry, rather his stomach was tied in knots of worry. He hoped it was Margaret he heard clanging silverware against the china, not Mrs. Shaw. He might deal with his irritable mother each morning but she knew enough not to talk to until the tea had sunk in. Somehow he did not think Mrs. Shaw would understand his need to ease into his day.

It was Margaret's beautiful, fresh face which greeted him at the table. He stood by the door momentarily, stunned anew by her grace and beauty. They had never shared a breakfast together. Lunch had been a frequent occurrence when she would come to the mill house to visit him at mid-day, but never breakfast.

"Good morning," she chirped. "Join me?"

He moved inside the room and paused next to her chair. "I should warn you," he said, bending over so his face was quite close to hers, "I do not talk very much at the breakfast table. It takes me a bit to fully wake up."

She turned her head and leaned forward to gently brushed her lips against his. "I shall remember that."

He smiled broadly. "I suppose I might find myself in a better mood each day if you are sitting at the table with me."

Just as he was taking a seat next to Margaret, a maid came in holding a plate heaping with food. She set it in front of him, and then asked if he needed anything else. Margaret was already fixing him a cup of tea, so he was quite satisfied.

"Thank you, this will be fine."

With a curtsey, the maid left them alone to eat. For several minutes they ate in silence, a very companionable stillness. Breakfast was delicious, and Margaret had fixed his tea perfectly. He soon decided he was ready to start a conversation.

"Thank you for ordering a bath for me today, that was very considerate."

"You are quite welcome." The dimple appeared on her cheek as she smiled at him.

He might be imagining it, but between the quick kiss, ordering the bath and warm greeting, Margaret might have decided to give him another chance.

"I did not sleep well last night," he said, digging into his eggs.

"Oh? I am sorry." She frowned, a look of concern causing a line to form between her eyes. "Was the bed not comfortable, or were you unwell?"

"No." He swallowed a bit of egg. "I could not get my mind off of _you_." He turned to face her after wiping the edges of his mouth with his napkin. "I was overwhelmed with the knowledge I was sleeping under the same roof as you, only a few feet away."

She flushed a pretty pink and looked down at her plate.

"I have embarrassed you? Have we not always spoken plainly with each other?"

"We have," she agreed. "The only embarrassment I feel is that my thoughts ran in much the same direction." She glanced up again, her cheeks completely red. "Perhaps I am wanton?"

She looked legitimately worried. He reached out his hand, and when she offered hers, he kissed her palm and then rested it against his cheek. "You and I have shared ourselves with only one another. That makes us lovers, not promiscuous or improper. You are everything decent and pure. You have shared yourself with me, as I have with you."

She nodded, but he could tell she was not wholly convinced. He moved his hand back to the table, keeping hers firmly locked in his grasp.

"How shall we spend our day?" He changed the subject, hoping to ease her worry. As far as he was concerned, he would be pleased to spend a day in Mrs. Shaw's drawing room listening to Edith complain about her pregnancy woes, so long as he was near Margaret.

"I thought perhaps we could go into Bloomsbury and visit the Museum at Montagu House if you are willing? Just lately they have opened a new wing on a temporary basis for the visitors of the Great Exhibition."

"If you wish," he said. "I have never been there."

Her jaw dropped. "You have never been to the British Museum?"

He laughed at her incredulous reaction. "I have come to London only for business trips, my love." He chuckled. "For some unspoken reason, my mother despises London, so as a family we never traveled here. In truth, I do not believe Fanny has _ever_ been to London."

"I cannot imagine _not_ experiencing London."

"You love it so well?"

She shrugged. "It has been home for me. I enjoy so many diversions available only in London, such as the Museum I shall introduce you to, today."

Concerned she did not want to permanently leave the glamour and thrill only London could provide, John was about to defend the opportunities available in Milton, but Mrs. Shaw entered the room, ending the privacy they had been enjoying.

"Good morning, Aunt," Margaret said, looking away from him.

"You both look chipper for such an early hour," Mrs. Shaw said, taking her spot at the head of the table.

The matriarch sat back as her maid poured tea for her and arranged her place setting in a very particular way. Once the maid stepped back, Mrs. Shaw waved her away.

"It is a wonderful day." Margaret squeezed his hand while still looking at her aunt. "I was hoping we might have use of your carriage?"

As she was settling her napkin on her lap, Mrs. Shaw answered, "I shall need it for afternoon tea. I am to call on Barbara Bruce."

"We will return by then." Margaret's smile made her whole face glow. "I have proposed a trip to Montagu House."

"You mentioned your desire to see the new east wing." Mrs. Shaw took a long drink of her tea. "As long as you arrive home by three, my dear, the carriage is all yours."

She turned to John, bright as the sun. "Are you finished? Shall we be off?"

He would do whatever she wanted as long as she continued to look at him in such a way.


	35. Chapter 34A

Dear Friends-

I appreciate ALL reviews, whether positive or negative because the best way to learn, in my humble opinion, is from each other.

That being said... if you intend to leave a very critical review, with complex issues related to my writing or interpretation of Gaskell's characters, please do me the courtesy of signing in (not as an invisible 'guest') so I may contact you. I enjoy talking about the characters and setting, and if you are passionate enough to read the almost 175,000 words I have written, and write a lengthy review, you are the sort of person I would enjoy talking with.

Additionally, Milton's Mill Master is a VARIATION on North & South. This John Thornton and Margaret Hale are my characters. Had Gaskell had the benefit of 200,000 words to develop her characters, I believe we would have seen a much different man. She, however, was limited by the publisher on her number of words, hence the disappointing, lackluster ending- if you read the book, I am certain you would agree. There was no railroad scene...

Men and women do break up in the Victorian age. Men and women have sex outside of marriage in the Victorian era, especially in the lower classes, which John is surrounded by on a daily basis. No, it is not a good choice in John's case, and he is trying to make amends, just as any suitor would in any era in humankind. What man would not sneak a kiss, given the opportunity?

No, it is not a good choice, in John's case, to break up with Margaret after speaking with her father. No, it's not a good choice for him to send a letter instead of arriving in person. He is trying to make amends, just as any suitor would in any era in humankind. I have loved and lost and reunited, and it is not an easy road, but a worthwhile one.

Forgiveness comes hard and our John is realizing that. He's not perfect, no man is. He has never had a girlfriend or woman he loved, he messed up, was an absolute ass, but to not give him a second chance when Margaret knows the good man he is? That would be just foolish.

Julia x


	36. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

"I am always in awe as I climb these stairs." Margaret's eyes darted to and fro as she and John walked toward the main entrance of Montagu House. "I can hardly imagine it ever being a simple, private home."

John chuckled and wound her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Simple?" He laughed again. "Simply _striking_."

He paused on the step below her and she turned to see what he was looking at, what he was exceptionally impressed by. "The architecture? Which part do you prefer?"

Eye level, he leaned forward. "I was speaking of you."

"John!" She batted at his shoulder. "Stop teasing." She pulled him along, blushing. "The structure is striking. _I_ am not." Her body buzzed with the compliment, warming her all the way to the tips of her toes.

"I am _not_ teasing," he answered, stopping again. "When I arrived in London, and watched you enter in the drawing room, I realized I had already begun to take you for granted as part of my life. I shall do so no more."

"You are embarrassing me."

These were the admissions she had longed to hear from him. He was always complimentary, never hesitated to exclaim his love. But these deep thoughts he had never shared with her.

He chuckled. "You must become accustomed to my compliments, my love." He pulled her tightly against his side. "I am merely stating the obvious, and in my way, telling you how much I value you."

Her heart was fluttering and she was not certain if it was from climbing the high staircase or his words. She was at a loss of words, so she remained silent. It felt as if they were newly courting, just learning about each other once again, but already equipped with the deep attraction and love they had already developed.

"When did this turn from a home into a museum?" he asked.

"About a hundred years ago, I believe? The home was built in the 1600's, though. The curators have changed areas to better fit the exhibitions they have on display."

"Will you be my tour guide today?" he asked.

He was quite good at this flirting business. Perhaps he was simply happy, and being the charming man she had come to love?

"Yes." She smiled and then curtseyed, playing along. "I shall do my best, kind sir."

"You must let me know how I can repay your kindness." His eyes were bright and happy, a little mischievous, and all she could do was smile.

Her lips twisted into a playful smile. "I have some ideas. I shall share them with you at a later time."

"Your wish is my command, love." He winked at her.

She rolled her eyes, feeling happier than she had in weeks.

"Now then," she started. "A man called Sir Richard Westmacott is building a pediment to be hung over the entrance, just there." She pointed above the main entrance between the columns.

"Hmm." John studied the area where she pointed. "What will the subject be?"

"I do not believe I read what it will be." She chuckled. "I just know it will be in place sometime in the next few years. It shall be a surprise!"

"You hate surprises," he reminded her, raising his brows.

"Only bad ones."

"And what was my arrival in London?" he asked, holding her gaze. "A good one or a bad one?"

"A good surprise, of course." She smiled up at him. _Such a good one._ "Anyway," She waved back to the ceiling of the entryway. "This sculpture will not affect me personally at all, therefore, I will be excited to see whatever _surprise_ Sir Westmacott creates."

They walked through the main entrance, and again she was struck by the sheer size of the place, the height of the ceilings and the amount of marble used to form the floors and walls and columns inside. They were the only people in sight.

"Where is everyone?" John whispered as they entered the sparsely populated great court. "I had expected crowds such as we saw at the Great Exhibition."

In her experience, the place was never densely crowded, certainly not as the Great Exhibition had been. The museum was interesting to people who were studious and curious, and many in London—Britain for that matter—were not.

"Unfortunately, people have not taken as much interest in the museum as they did the Great Exhibition. There are certain exhibits inside where people flock, and I shall be glad to show you those first, if you wish? As the day grows later, more people will come." She laughed. "Remember we are living on London time now, not by the Milton mill whistle."

"Guide the way, my lady."

Lord he was handsome when he smiled, and he looked so fine that day, wearing a different waistcoat and tie. The blue of each picked up the color of his eyes, making them come alive each time he looked at her. The rest of his outfit had not changed, but somehow that small difference had a huge effect on her.

She led him to the staircase so she might show him her favorite thing. It was not very consequential, but it made her happy each time she saw it. She pointed to the ceiling.

"There John." She pointed up. "That is my favorite part of this whole place."

"The mounted animals?" He looked suspicious. He was thinking of the life-sized stuffed giraffes standing guard on the staircase landing.

"The mural. On the ceiling. Look up!" she exclaimed. "Look at the baby cherubs! And the beautiful clouds. If I had the talent, I should wish to be able to paint that well! Whenever I see it, I feel as if that is heaven looking down up on me."

She smiled at him, a feeling of pure pleasure radiating through her body.

He smiled back, but did not look at the ceiling. Instead, he stared at her. "Please be mine again, Margaret?"

She sighed. He was rushing things. She wound her hand back through his arm. "Let us enjoy today, John."

"I am trying to be patient, but I fear that is one of my many weaknesses." He waited for her to move before following closely behind.

She liked the stuffed animals, creatures she had never seen in real life. They reminded her of the elephant they saw together at the Great Exhibition and she told him, just that.

"You brought me so much… delight…" He was not looking at her as he spoke, instead looking at the giraffes. "I had come prepared for tedious business dealings, visits with people I had no connection to and no true wish to meet. Instead, Margaret Anne, I met you, and my life has been changed for the better because of it."

The same was true for her. Her life had become so much fuller because of her experiences with him, and additionally through her life in Milton. But that pleasure and happiness had come to end just a week ago. It was painful to know how good it had been between them, only to have it crash down without warning, through an impersonal, cold note.

She supposed she saw the logical, cold businessman through his use of letter and that chilled her. There was no anger in the missive, it had simply been cold and matter-of-fact, so unlike how he typically behaved with her, and nothing like the love letters he had sent her throughout the summer, filling the time from when he left London and when she arrived in Milton.

"I thought at first your letter had been a bad joke," she said, voicing for the first time her reaction.

They quietly meandered through the Long Gallery, just above the King's Library, stopping to look at enormous portraits hanging on the wall. She imagined in a few years these might be replaced by the new photography methods she had seen earlier that week at the Great Exhibition.

"It was. The joke was one me, though," he answered. He tightened his hold on her hand on his arm. "I thought I could go on without you, even for a little while." He shook his head. "It will not happen again," he assured her, the same as he had done the night before.

She stopped walking and frowned up at him. As there were no other people in this section of the gallery, she could speak freely. "What will you do, then, if Mr. Latimer comes to you with concerns about his daughter's treatment? If we resume our courtship, you cannot court Ann. Will Latimer not take some sort of financial action against you?"

"Just to be clear." His voice was rather harsh she thought. "I would never involve myself with another woman if you were mine."

"Yet is that not precisely what you did at the dinner?" she retorted. "You completely ignored me and entertained Ann. In front of me! I believed we were still a couple that evening, had prepared to be your partner, by your side the whole of the night." _And beyond._

"We were… we _are_ a couple. In my mind, anyway." He shook his head and glared at the next portrait, the nerve working in his jaw.

"John we must work this out." She moved so she was standing between the painting and him. _Why must he be so tall?_ "No matter how hard I am trying, I cannot let go of the memory of you smiling and laughing at Ann while I was stuck at the very opposite end of the table with your mill men." _And your mother._ She frowned. "How did that happen? Your mother said she had set my place next to you, with my father across. Were we so easily replaced by Ann and her mother?"

He shook his head. "I had no hand in that. It was a surprise to me, as well." He took her hands. "I am sorry. There are not the proper words to tell you how deeply I regret proceeding as I did. You are the only woman I have ever loved, or _will_ ever love."

"Yes, that may be true, but how do the others at the table see it? Hamper and Slickson and their wives? These are the people I must associate as your companion, what will they think of me, or of you, for that matter? Our courtship was well known, and the suddenly, you diverted your attention to Ann, snubbing me in front of all of them."

"They will see the truth when you come home with me. Our life should be none of their business!"

She snorted at that foolish idea. "Gossips will gossip."

"That will bother you? I thought you were above that nonsense."

"I may be. But what of your mother? Your _sister_? She thrives on being the center of all the latest news. Will my return to Milton, to your side, not cause scandal? And again, what will you do when Latimer pressures you for a repayment?"

He still had not answered that important question. He studied her hands. "Had Latimer not forced my hand, things would be incredibly different today. In order to secure the additional funds from Latimer, I placed my looms as collateral. They were not worth a farthing sitting idle, so it seemed the best plan. If he calls in the looms, the mill will close."

"And yet you are willing to face that tragedy… just to have me?"

"You are worth more to me than my mill. It is unfortunate that it took so much to make me realize how much allowed the business to run my life, ultimately taking away the best thing in my life. I want _you_ to be at the center of my life, not my business."

She let that statement sink in for a moment, and then turned to continue the tour of the portrait gallery. She really was not seeing anything, her head too full of what he was telling her. There was no benefit to _him_ by reuniting with her, in fact she was more of a liability.

Could she trust him with her heart again?

Who was she kidding? He _owned_ her heart.

"I will do what I must to pay him back," he continued, standing closely behind her back. He turned her shoulder gently so she could see his face. "I will not give you up, unless you decide I am unworthy of you."

She looked away from his intense stare, swallowed and then moved along the wall, next to him. He was certainly laying it all out for her. He must have left his pride back in Milton, deciding forthright honesty would be the best.

"Have you heard, by chance, from Mr. Willwright?" She changed the subject and moved to the next portrait, an enormous depiction of King George III. "I was wondering how his father fares. I wrote to Gert, but I have not had a response."

"I saw them Tuesday evening," he answered quietly. "Thomas said his father was improving. Fortunately, it was not as grave as they first believed."

She glanced back at him. "I am very pleased to hear that. Where did you see them?" She was not certain she really wanted to know the answer, but she was curious.

"At a circus performance at the Lyceum. Well, outside the Lyceum."

"Did you attend with Fanny?" She moved closer to the king's painting to find the name of the artist.

"Ah, no."

She turned to look up with him, surprised by the blush that covered his cheeks. "Ann Latimer?"

"Yes."

Fanny had written that he and Ann were spending time together. Foolishly, or perhaps naively Margaret had believed it was simply at the dinner, and not beyond.

"Was it enjoyable?" She tried her best to appear indifferent. "I do not believe I have ever been to a circus. The idea is not very appealing to me." That was quite true. To her, it seemed like a foolish way to spend time and money. Circuses came through London rather regularly, but Aunt Shaw repeatedly said they were gauche and in poor taste.

"Not particularly."

She waited for him to say more, but several minutes passed in silence as they continued through the portrait gallery. She stopped at the end where a beautiful portrait of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert hung. The painter had done a wonderful job capturing the eyes of both subjects. As Margaret moved, she felt they followed her, watching her. _Remarkable._

"We have come to the end of the portraits, it seems," she said. "I am surprised they have not yet added portraits of the princes and princesses."

He shrugged. "When they get older, perhaps?"

She nodded. From her experience at the foundling house it was hard to keep young children still for very long.

"From here, we have a few choices of what to explore next, but I believe you might enjoy the Rosetta Stone?" she suggested.

" _That_ I have heard of," John said, "but have never seen."

"Well, you must see that before we leave."

She led him slowly down the back stairs to the main floor where they first arrived in the Great Court. Wearing another of Edith's dresses forced her to lift the hem as they descended. She did not wish to trip and make a fool of herself, but she had also wanted to wear something that day John had not yet seen on her. It was a good choice, even if it was a tad too long.

When they reached the main floor, she said, "If you prefer, we can go visit the Aztec items or the Parthenon Sculptures first? I understand they just put on display a new statue from an archaeological site scientists have been uncovering in Assyria."

The room was more crowded then when they first arrived. As Margaret had suspected, the early hour had kept people away.

"Perhaps the Rosetta Stone first and then the Aztecs? I am most familiar with those."

"Very well." She pointed to a side wing of the building. "This way."

The Rosetta Stone was situated in an open area, surrounded by glass. Having earned great acclaim in the world as the key which unlocked the meaning behind hieroglyphics, thousands flocked to see it when it was first placed on display. Now, several decades later, the crowds had waned, but people like John who had not had the opportunity to view it, could still learn of its value.

"I expected it to be much larger," he said.

"As much excitement as it caused, you would certainly expect a larger stone, but I believe it is just about four feet tall."

"Just about your size," he teased. He looked around quick and swooped in to kiss her cheek. "I jest, of course. You are the perfect size." He kissed her again.

She shook her head at his foolishness. "Shall I play tour guide and explain to you that there are three languages present on the stone? Hieroglyphics on top," she pointed, "Demotic, which is a form of ancient Egyptian script, and on the bottom is Greek."

She watched him lean closer, studying his angular profile.

"One thing I would like to promote in Milton is learning." He turned to look at her and then back at the stone. "Your father works with boys from the finest families in the area, but what about the girls? What about the children of my mill workers? They are receiving no education, but they must know basic things like reading and writing. Where are they to learn that?"

"What do you propose to do?" she asked.

"Schooling for everyone." He stood tall and looked over the display at her.

"That sounds expensive. You would need buildings and teachers and supplies."

"I do believe it must be a joint effort, involving all the community leaders and the town as well. I cannot take it on alone, but it must be done."

He was correct. Everyone should be given an opportunity for learning. The dreamer, the visionary, the man who cared for others was the John she had fallen in love with.

"Will this not remove laborers from your mill?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But you know I do not take the youngest children. If they were in school, I might well have more wishing for employment as mothers could work in the mill while the children are at school." He shrugged. "It is just an idea I have been pondering. In fact, _you_ are the first that I am sharing it with."

 _Such a good man_. "Thank you for trusting me with your idea."

"In truth, you and my mother… and perhaps Mr. Bell are the only people I do trust. The three of you are the only people who have always had my best interests at heart."

"Surely there are others?"

He shook his head. "I can trust the mill men only so far, and beyond them, I have not many acquaintances. Williams, of course I trust will mill maters, but nothing of a personal nature."

She realized how fortunate she was to have so many people within her life she could rely upon. She smiled softly at him and moved around the stone, close to his side.

"Shall we go to the Aztecs?" she offered.

"Yes. This was remarkable, I am glad to have seen it, but there is not much to study."

"Papa could tell you what the Greek says," she said. "Perhaps you can ask him when you see him next."

She took his arm and led the way down a side hallway further into the depths of the museum. She caught him looking at the paintings and sculptures on the wall, so she moved slowly, allowing him to absorb all that she had seen over the course of years she had attended the museum. When he slowed to study something, she waited patiently, rediscovering the beauty surrounding them.

"I stopped at the foundling home on Wednesday in the late afternoon before I went to the weekly mill master's meeting." He spoke to the painting he was studying, not her.

"You did?" Margaret was surprised he would continue to visit even without her.

"I suppose that was what reignited my desire to start schools in Milton," he said, turning toward her. "Miss Bea sends her best and asked me to tell you that Master Kenneth is nearly sitting by himself."

She laughed. "I suppose it must mean he is growing?"

"Perhaps?" He shrugged with a chuckle. "It seemed important that you know." He chuckled again. "As soon as I arrived, Miss Lily twirled right into my arms and demanded I tell her a story."

"And of course you did so," Margaret said. "I suppose your story was something along the lines of ' _the_ _boy who worked in the mill_?'"

He laughed. "You give me far too much credit, Margaret." He stopped at another painting. "I am not nearly so clever to make something up as fast as she expected it. She pinched and tickled me until I came up with something."

He tried to look offended, but his grin gave his pleasure away.

"In the end I told her the creation story." He frowned. "Sadly, she had never heard it before, but did know a little about God."

"I have heard it so many times, yet I am not at all certain I could get the events situated on the correct day, except for the seventh day of course, when God rested." She laughed. Her clergyman father would shake his head at her, but it was the truth.

He tipped his head. "She was satisfied with the story, even if I did misplace events. However, she said I could not return to see her without _you_." He grimaced. "I am afraid she may be a bit cross with you."

"Ah, ha! So the truth is finally out." Margaret laughed. "You have come to fetch me because you do not wish to be pinched by Lily again!"

He laughed. "You know that is not true, however, I am quite fond of the little imp and although I will never tell her, I do enjoy her pinches."

"When her little fingers get stronger you will not," Margaret answered.

"Perhaps," he agreed. The smile remained on his face, and Margaret was well convinced Little Lily had wrapped herself around his heart, despite her bossiness. "Shall we move on? What do you wish to see next?"

"Aztec or sculptures... _you_ must decide as this is your first visit."

"I know nothing about Aztecs, so I suppose I should like to experience that culture, even if only through artifacts."

She nodded. "Excellent. Follow me."

They had walked on in silence passing through a narrow, crowded hallway. She was pleased he was never too far from her side, not that she was worried for her safety, but she was proud to be escorted by him, spending the day with him.

They stepped by one room and she suddenly stopped, causing him to bump into her. He grabbed her arms to steady her and briefly pulled her against his body.

"Oh, I am sorry, John." She looked over her shoulder at him. "I did not meant to stop so suddenly, but have forgotten about this exhibit!" she exclaimed, turning and entering the room dedicated to more Egyptian relics. "Come, you will like these. I cannot believe I forgot this monument." She took his hand and led him further into the darkened room, lit only by light coming through a set of small windows. "This whole display is called the Nereid Monument." She pointed to the white friezes and larger stage-like carved statue.

"Is Nereid a place, then?" he asked quietly, almost reverently, as he looked from sculpture to sculpture.

"No." She grinned. "It is named for the sea-nymphs we will soon see on the columns on that main sculpture at the very end." She pointed to where the multi-tiered, largest sculpture rested.

"Sea-nymphs?" He chuckled.

"Well, the area these were discovered _is_ surrounded by water. I suppose they must have myths and legends just as we do, but theirs involve the sea?" She shrugged. "Edith and the captain took their wedding trip to the Greek isle of Corfu. She said it was quite warm, but beautiful."

"Is that where your brother is?" he asked quietly.

"No," she answered quickly. She looked around. "He is in Spain, but I will tell you no more." She chastised him by wagging a finger at him.

"Tell me about this monument, then," he asked.

"They reconstructed it the best they could, how they believe it once was, before it was dug from the ruins."

"But what is it?"

"I have heard it described as a miniature Parthenon. I have never seen the actual one, so I cannot judge the truth of it."

"What are the sculptures depicting?" he asked, studying them closely.

"I believe it was a parade of sorts? A way to honor the gods? And although no one is certain, the curators have displayed the friezes so they appear to march toward the Parthenon, where you will find carvings of gladiators fighting lions and, well, other things." She laughed at herself. "I must admit, John, I have never been much drawn to sculpture, and did not pay as close of attention as I should have when it was first explained to me five or six years ago."

"We can leave?" he suggested.

"Oh no, that is not what I meant. I think you ought to see it." Margaret moved closer to him. "I simply do not have much information to share with you."

"Just having you by my side is a pleasure," he said. "Spending the day with you is a great gift for me."

"Thank you. I have _always_ enjoyed being with you," she admitted

He stared at her, his face softening. "I love you, Margaret. I do not know what I can do to convince you…"

She glanced around the room, pleased in the knowledge no one was near enough to hear them. "I know how you feel. I never doubted your love and commitment to me, until…" She shook her head. "I just wish…" She swallowed. "I wish I knew that in two years or ten years from now you would not do the same thing."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I understand your concern. I do not know what even tomorrow will bring for us, love. However, I make you a promise to be the best man I can be, and look to you to make me a better man, the man that _you_ need me to be. I will put your needs before all others, even Marlborough Mills."

Overwhelmed by the intensity of the love she saw in his eyes, tears formed in her own. She blinked quickly to clear them before sniffing and shaking her head. "That is not necessary." She pulled her handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and dabbed her eyes.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "How is it _not_ necessary? I want you to be the center of my life, Margaret, my world."

She continued to shake her head. "I do not need, or want to be first in your mind." She squeezed his hand. "Instead, I wish to be your partner, standing at your side as your greatest supporter, as I did when your workers left the mill floor to strike against the mill. Oh, how I wish I had been by your side when they came back to work and could have cheered as the looms began running again!"

"You were dearly missed," he said. "I missed you immediately, terribly. I felt as if I had been cut in half, and the better half was no longer part of me. "

She swallowed back more tears. "What I need from you is love, commitment and support. I need you to listen to my worries and share your worries with me, without concern of judgement."

"You shall have that, and even more."

She nodded, convinced he was being wholly truthful. Her heart was light and she could not help but smile. He had just promised her the world, and she knew he could, and would, deliver. He was as contrite as a person could be, regretting what he did, and pledging to be a better man—for her!

She virtually floated along the wall, her hand resting threaded on John's arm. "You will need Marlborough Mills to be successful for you to be happy, and I will stand by your side to make certain that it is."

He did not reply, and for quite some time, they moved through the room, now growing crowded, looking at the friezes hanging on the wall and ultimately spending considerable time on the main sculpture, the miniature replica of the Parthenon. He looked at each section, walked to see each side of the enormous sculpture, and read the small description which identified each part.

She moved along, needing just a little space away from him, to make certain her mind was clear as she made the decision she knew she had to make. It was unfair to make him wait for an answer. He deserved a second chance. She was hardly a perfect being without faults and surely, in time, she would do something foolish to hurt him unintentionally. It was inevitable, was it not?

"This was quite fascinating. You were correct. I am glad to have seen this display. My mother would appreciate all the marble. For some reason she has always liked marble. Shall we visit the Aztec empire now?" He held out his arm again and she took it.

"What was her family like?" Margaret asked, as they left behind the Greeks for a whole new continent of interest.

"Rich." He chuckled. "She is much as I remember _her_ mother to be. Cold, distant, formal."  
"Except with you." Margaret smiled.

He chuckled. "It is true that she loves me dearly, and worries over me as a mother hen. But even some days she is rather reserved with me."

They moved across the small open room and into another hallway which she knew led to the Aztec relics. As they walked down the hall, they encountered a group of young women, a few who looked at John a bit too long for Margaret's taste, and passed by them, giggling.

She looked back to see his reaction, but his eyes were concentrated on the pastoral paintings hanging on the walls they passed, seemingly oblivious to the attention of the girls.

"Do you like these paintings?" he asked, stopping at one which depicted two children running on the beach, mountains in the distance.

"I do," she answered. "I much prefer views such as these to the portraits we saw upstairs."

"What has you frowning?"

"I just realized the painting Papa had hanging in his study at Helstone has not yet been unpacked. It was a depiction of a small stream near the vicarage, with hedgerows full of the little yellow roses I loved. I hope it made the trip to the north and did not get left behind. I must ask him."

"You miss Helstone?"

She nodded and continued them moving along. "I suppose I will when the spring comes. That was my favorite time in the south. Farmers were in the fields and flowers began to bloom." She smiled. "The air was so fresh and pure."

"Unlike Milton."

"True. _And_ London." She shrugged. "I will be content in Milton, John."

"I am pleased to hear that, but there will be nothing to prevent you… _us_ … from traveling if you wish. I imagine you will want to see Mrs. Lennox's child when it arrives, perhaps even spend Christmas in London?"

"I should very much like to see Edith's baby when it arrives, but I expect your mill will place limits on traveling."

"It can and _will be_ arranged if you wish it."

"Thank you."

The Aztec room was not terribly large, just big enough to house the items discovered and a few dozen people hoping to become enlightened by the collection of relics.

"Is it my imagination, or is this room very dark?"

He was correct, it was even darker than the room where the Nereid was housed.

"I wish they would have lamps lit in here, but they fear fire so much, I doubt they ever will have better lighting." The windows in the ceiling did little to help, as the walls were dark.

"Where did all these people come from?"

She looked around, equally surprised. "Perhaps a tour group?"

John leaned forward. "Show me which displays you like best then we should leave. I am feeling a bit crushed."

"You are the tallest among us," she said, rolling her eyes. "If it feels tight to you, imagine my feelings."

She took his hand and led him through a tight space between people. I they did not move the display since she was last there in April, her two favorite pieces were located all the way at the back of the room.

"Here," she said, stopping at a glass box raised upon a wood pedestal. "These are my two favorite pieces."

The glass case was designed for the gold jewelry pieces that were uncovered in a wooden box at what some people thought likely was a tomb.

"This ring is quite interesting," she said. "It has the face of a cat, but I am so impressed by the intricate detail. I could almost imagine someone sitting for days designing this for someone special."

"These are all gold?" he asked. "I am rather fascinated by that one, the fellow holding a shield." He pointed to a pendant of sorts, with four sets of gold beads hanging off the bottom. "So many pieces to put together without a machine would be very work intensive."

She laughed. "Leave it to a man, and a _manufacturer_ to look at these pieces as a commodity rather than a lovely decoration." She laughed again.

He shrugged with a grin and then showed her his hands. "I wear no decoration on my hands, and only a watch at my waist." He pulled back his coat, displaying his pocket watch. "I am not very enlightened about such things."

It was then she decided he would wear a ring, should they wed.

"Many men wear rings, signet rings especially seem rather popular," she suggested, moving away from the golden trinkets.

They looked briefly at the stone sculptures, but he seemed to find them as bland as she did, and in no time, they were moving out of the room.

Once in the hall, she took a deep breath. "It was rather close quarters in there. What did you think of it?"

"The Greek carvings were much more impressive."

"I agree." She smiled. "I believe the archeologists are still working in the area where the Aztecs lived. Perhaps in the future they will provide more exciting things to place upon display?"

"Time had gotten away from us, love," He said glancing at his pocket watch. "The carriage will return in but twenty minutes."

"So soon? My goodness time did pass quickly." She twisted her lips, thinking what he might still enjoy seeing in the short time remaining. "Have you heard of the Lewis Chessmen?"

"Lewis as in Scotland, Lewis?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"I have not, but if you feel I must see them, then let us away." He waved for her to lead the way again, and she did so, walking a bit faster, knowing their time was limited.

"That is one place in the world I would love to see one day," she said over her shoulder.

"Lewis?"

"Yes, and Scotland in general. Since the queen visited Scotland, the newspapers have featured the lushness of the area surrounding Balmoral Castle. I would love to walk on the same hills, maybe even fish as she has been reported to have done!"

"I shall tell you a secret." He leaned forward. "I have never fished before."

"Never? Oh, what a shame!"

They climbed a small flight of stairs which led into the room where the chessmen resided.

"That painting I spoke of earlier, the one missing from my father's study?"

He nodded.

"The stream painted upon it is where Freddy, Papa and I would fish. After Fred left, Papa and I still went, but not nearly as often."

"Did you catch anything?" he teased.

"I will have you know John Thornton, I am a fine fisherwoman." Her hands rested on her hips. "Many times I caught fish large enough for our cook to use for dinner!"

"I am certain Dixon was not pleased to clean fish!"

"We had a cook before Papa moved to Milton. She was a very fine cook, but I believe she has now retired and lives with her daughter in Helstone. Dixon was more of a lady's maid to Mama than a house servant."

"Here we are," Margaret said as they entered the room.

The chessmen were in the middle of the room, surrounded by other pieces from the Outer Hebrides and the Highlands of Scotland, including woven kilts and picture carvings on stones.

"Do you play?" she asked.

"All British men play chess," he answered, in a rather matter-of-fact tone. "Never with pieces as fine as these."

"They may have been carved in Norway," she told him, returning to her role as tour guide. "Norway ruled the Outer Hebrides when they were believed to have been created."

"These are quite remarkable," John said. "The board we have at home is nothing like this."

"Gives you something to aspire to." She grinned.

"Indeed." He walked around the display, taking in each piece, one at a time.

"Mr. Bell taught me one summer when he stayed with us for several weeks. Mama never played, but Papa and I would often spend a rainy day staring at the board."

"I wish I could feel them. They look so smooth, yet so detailed." He turned his head to get a better view of one of the knights. "We must play. I have not had a partner in quite some time."

"Then so we shall," she agreed. "These are made from Walrus tusks and whale teeth. I can close my eyes and imagine people sitting around a fire polishing and carving them. They are indeed remarkable. I hope even with the machinery we are becoming more and more dependent upon we will still have craftsman such as the ones that created these."

"It will likely cost dear to have products handmade instead of made by machine. The labor costs alone…"

 _Always the businessman_.

"The queens look forlorn, but the knight's horse is marvelous. Are those rooks biting their swords? How odd."

"Papa said they are called _Berserkers._ They were known to go mad in a battle, and do odd rituals, like biting their shields, or even shedding their clothing." She flushed. "They arerather… unique."

He studied them for a bit longer and then stood straight, surprising her. "We should be on our way, Margaret, my stomach has begun to rumble."

She laughed. "Mine also! I was afraid you would hear it."

"And so what if I did? Are we not both human?" He threaded her hand through his arm.

"Of course, but, well a woman does not speak of such things."

"You must be confident to speak of everything with me. No secrets, ever, Margaret. No matter how silly or how small you believe it to be, I wish to know."

She suddenly felt a pang of guilt for not telling him of the gift from Mr. Bell. She would tell him, just not yet.

"Is there anything else I should see? What about that wing you mentioned at breakfast?"

"I believe it is only books. It will be open permanently in the spring. Perhaps you will be able to see it then?"

"Let us make it a date, then," he suggested. "When it opens, you and I shall attend."

"I would like to," she answered, "provided you are not married to Ann Latimer before then."

He dropped her hand as if it had burned him and glared at her. "I will not be marrying Ann. The only woman I wish to marry is you… if you will decide I am worthy of you. Enough of the talk of Ann." Angry, he stalked toward the entrance.

She had meant it as a jest, but clearly he found no humor in it. Wait. She stopped walking. _Had he just proposed marriage?_

He waited for her at the door, but did not look at her as she joined him.

"I am sorry," she apologized quickly. "It was meant to be funny."

"The whole idea sickens me." He did look at her then. "It will be _you_ or _no one_. I'll not say it again."

He opened the door and followed her outside. She did not know what to say, how to answer such a statement or how to get rid of his anger. What a foolish thing for her to have said! It was jealousy and anger over the knowledge he had spent time with Ann this week.

They walked side-by-side down the steps of the museum, toward the awaiting carriages. John took an unexpected detour toward a man standing at a small flower cart. She watched him choose a single flower and pay the red haired man. He turned to where she stood, now only a few feet from him and presented her the perfect, red rose.

"Thank you," she said. "It is so beautiful."

He nodded at her and then moved to where Aunt Shaw's carriage driver stood, waiting for them.

"Hey Ma'am! You know what that flower means doncha?" The man had a decided Irish accent.

She looked down at the deep red flower. "Love," she answered.

"Aye but yer husband asked for one wit' out thorns. That means love at first sight and forever."

She bent and smelled the single rose, and with a smile walked to the carriage where John stood patiently waiting to help her climb aboard.

"Not as impressive as the bouquet from Peregrine," he said, giving her his hand to help her board.

"It is far better, John, as it was given and accepted with love."


	37. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-Six

"John Thornton, are you pouting?" Margaret asked, frowning as she stared at his firm and slightly ill-disposed profile.

He turned from the window and glanced at her, his eyes quite cold. "Simmering." He turned his head again, apparently obsessed by what he saw outside the window, or disgusted by who was inside the carriage.

She sat quietly, looking out the opposite window, trying to turn the awkwardness into something positive. She spotted the food hamper Becky had packed them. She lifted the side, surprised to find a bottle of Aunt's fine wines and the lemon bars Margaret had baked several days earlier.

"You need not be angry with me, John." She was contrite, angry with herself for being so ridiculous. She knew she had wounded him, but how could she repair the damage? "It was a poor joke. I am very sorry I offended you."  
He turned back to pin her with a steady look. "Do you recall many months ago when I gave you leave to tease me about anything you wish, except for my love for you and the relationship we have developed?"

"I do." She had failed him.

"Then you will understand why I am a bit… prickly… when your joke does not ring funny to my ears... and heart."

The look he gave her physically hurt her. How could she remove his ire?

"John. I love you," she said. "I am jealous that you spent time with Ann after I left Milton. I am trying to overcome this… disappointment, however I find it difficult."

"No more difficult for me when I find you have been with Lennox, or watch you leave me to spend an evening with the viscount fellow."

"Precisely," she answered. "Which is why if you had not rushed to end our courtship, neither of us would be angry right now."

It was his fault. He could hardly argue that, so when he opened his mouth, she held her breath to hear his excuse. Instead he shook his head.

"I am a great fool," he whispered so quietly she was not certain she had heard him.

"Not in general, my love. But with our situation, you have been."

"Where are we going?" he suddenly asked.

They had pulled onto Regent Street.

"The Regent's Park," she answered. "It is open for visitors today. I thought with the weather being so fine we could enjoy a picnic."

His eyes remained locked on her as he reached for his pocket watch.

"Your aunt needs the carriage in under an hour," he stated, returning his watch to his pocket.

"It is but a short distance from the park to Aunt Shaw's home. I would enjoy walking with you. Of course, if you would prefer, we can simply return-"

"No." he cut her off. "I would prefer to spend more time alone with you."

The tone of his voice told her otherwise, but Margaret decided she would take him at his word. She, too, would prefer to be alone with him, away from the judgmental gaze of her aunt and whines from Edith.

The carriage parked near the main public entrance. John stepped out first, and after he had placed his hat upon his head, she handed down the food hamper and blanket. With his free hand, he helped her out, and once her feet hit the ground, she took the blanket from him. They bid goodbye to Mrs. Shaw's driver and entered the park

"Shall we go toward the canal? There are some beautiful trees changing colors along the way we may find a perfect spot to sit."

"As you wish, Miss Hale," he said quietly. "You know the area far better than I."

She looked sharply at him, wondering why he had resorted to referring to her in such a formal manner. They were surrounded by many couples enjoying the beautiful, sunny day, but no one was close enough to hear him. And what if they did? They could very well be an engaged or married couple, allowing him the benefit and privilege to use her Christian name.

"What will you do with the kitten?" he suddenly asked.

She chuckled. "He has caught two mice in the kitchen since his arrival. I believe the cook is willing to feed and care for him when I leave."

"And when will that be?"

She stopped walking and looked into his eyes. "That depends."

He stopped as well, waiting silently for her to finish. "On?"

"Why you, of course." She chuckled at the surprised look upon his face and she continued walking down the graveled pathway toward the canal.

The more time she spent in his company the easier it was becoming to forgive him. She would not have done as he did. In a like situation, she would have run _to_ him rather than _away._ That was the reaction of a woman, not a man who felt he had to be self-sufficient and in control of his world at all times. Margaret understood this now, and knew John must learn to lean on her as she did on him.

"The trees look so lovely today." She looked up at him, smiling in pure pleasure of being in his company. "The sun's glistening off the pretty leaves."

He nodded, without comment. Was there nothing she could do to lighten his mood? The graveled path continued, and soon they came upon the canal, where ducks were floating in the still waters. She spotted a tall Maple tree, near the water, which had just begun to shed its pretty leaves in shades of red, orange and yellow.

"How does this spot look, Mr. Thornton?" she asked.

Again, he nodded without comment. Frustrated by his silence, she quickly unfolded the blanket she'd brought from the carriage. Once it was flat, she pulled it flush with the tree, so John might be able to lean his long form against it. She settled herself on the edge and with a wide smile, patted the blanket.

"Join me?" she invited.

"Of course." He set the food hamper next to her on the blanket, and settled himself against the tree, just as she suspected he might, extending his legs fully.

"You're legs are so long," she stated.

"And yours are quite short," he retorted. "That does not make you any less perfect to me."

She felt heat creep up her neck. "Nor you."

"What a lovely blush, Margaret."

"You tease me." Frowning, she handed him the wine bottle. "Open this?"

He removed the cork with a pop and filled the glass she held.

"Is that sufficient?" He had nearly filled the glass.

"Yes, of course."

He poured his own drink and rested back against the trunk of the mighty tree. She noticed he was closely watching her movements as she unpacked their food. She wished he would say something, begin a conversation, even rage at her so she could judge his state of mind.

"There are slices of roast beef, chicken salad, and fresh bread." She handed him the platter to choose from. "Ah, here are the cheeses." She dug in the hamper a bit further and picked out the plate filled with chunks of cheese. She set it between them, so he might pick as he wished.

"Do I spy some of your lemon biscuits?" He peered over her shoulder into the hamper.

"You should not have seen those yet," she chided. "Dessert comes at the end."

"Why must it?" He reached forward to snag one and she playfully swatted his hand.

He was quicker and not only grabbed the biscuit but claimed her hand with his other hand and refused to let go.

"How might I eat if you are holding my hand?" she asked in a pleading tone.

He shrugged. "You will find a way."

She shook her head and laughed at his silly mood. He kissed her knuckles and then let go of her hand.

"You have lost weight, love," he said between bites. "You must eat."

"I have not," she argued. "I am wearing my cousin's clothing. She is a bit more… endowed in certain areas."

His eyes grazed over her body, making her face become even hotter.

"I would not want you any way other than what you are," he told her.

"That is comforting, John, as I am now twenty-one and likely too old to change."

"Oh yes! You have just turned into an old spinster." He rolled his eyes.

"Well, I _have_ ," she insisted. "I have now reached the age of majority and as my cousin says I am now queen of my own destiny!"

He set down his meat-laden plate, and held up a long finger for her to wait. He reached into the inner pocket of his frockcoat and extracted a velvet pouch.

"I had your birthday marked in three locations at my home and at the mill office so I would not forget the day. About a month ago," he continued, "I went with Watson to choose a wedding band for Fanny. While there, Margaret, I saw these and knew I must give them to you for your birthday. Will you accept a gift from me?"

"Why would I not?"

"As I understand proper etiquette, it is not entirely proper to accept a gift from a man to which you are not betrothed or married."

 _Oh how she wished they were already wed!_

"You have gifted me flowers," she argued. She wanted very much to accept whatever he had chosen for her.

"They are likely the exception to the rule."

"Please?" She smiled sweetly, folding her hands as if in prayer. "May I _please_ see what you have chosen for me?"

He laughed and handed her the palm-sized black pouch. It was closed with a drawstring and she slowly pulled it apart. It would not be a ring, as much as she was hoping for one. Perhaps a bracelet?

"Earrings!" she exclaimed with pleasure. "Oh John, they are gorgeous!"

"You wear the golden circles every day." He pointed to her ears. "I wanted to choose something simple that you still may wear daily. Did I do well?"

He looked like a little boy hoping for approval.

"These are perfect. Beautiful." She sighed in pleasure.

They _were_ perfect. A single diamond was embedded inside a shiny golden swirl, hanging just slightly from the post which would go through her ears. She promptly slipped out her usual hoop earrings and replaced them with John's.

"What do you think? Do they suit me?" She turned her head, enjoying the tickle from the dangle.

"They are not nearly as beautiful as you, but yes, they suit you well. Happy birthday."

"Thank you, John, I shall cherish them always." _Just as I cherish you._ "If we were truly alone, I would kiss you."

He wagged his eyebrows. "Later, perhaps?"

"It will be my pleasure," she answered. She placed her old earrings back in the pouch. "Would you hold these for me? I am without a pocket or a bag."

"Certainly." He accepted the pouch and placed it back in his pocket.

"I wish to know about Marlborough Mills," she said, picking up her plate again.

"What about it?" he asked.

He had such lovely manners. He never spoke with his mouth full, and wiped the corners of his mouth after he drank. He didn't use his fingers to eat as so many men of her acquaintance did, nor did he belch at the table or blow his nose. His nails were always well groomed and he meticulously cared for his appearance.

"It must be stable at present," she said, "or you would not be here with me."

He nodded and refilled his glass. "We had three orders to complete before yesterday or we would not meet the deadline and therefore would lose the contracts. As soon as the finished goods were loaded on the train, I packed my bag and came to you."

That explained why he did not come promptly when he realized the mistake he had made, separating from her.

"Did all your hands return?"

"Aye." He nodded. "In fact, I hired someone." He crossed his feet at his ankles. "I'm not certain how you will react so I shall simply tell you and prepare for your reaction- whatever it may be."

 _Odd._

"Who did you hire?" she asked. Who would cause her to have any sort of reaction?

"Robbie Higgins."

She looked at him wide-eyed, surprised. "Oh," was her simple reply.

"Are you angry?"

"No." She continued frowning as she shook her head. "It is your business, and I trust your judgement, for I know nothing of running a mill."

It unwittingly popped in her head that she now owned his mill buildings. She better quickly begin to understand the business, and if John would not marry her soon, she would need be forced to turn to Henry Lennox to help her manage Mr. Bell's sizeable estate which she now owned.

"He hurt you, Margaret," John reminded her. "He caused you physical pain. If you do not wish his employed by me, I will fire him."

"He hurt you as well, John. If you can forgive him, so can I. Perhaps he will help Nicholas care for Bessie and Mary, and when my friend passes away, Nicholas will need his children to help him through his grief."

He nodded as he continued to eat from his plate, devouring the light meal. Neither spoke for several minutes, enabling them to eat their food.

"Nicholas has gone back to Hampers," he said after sipping some wine. "I offered him a position, but Hamper took him back."

"You offered a position to the man who encouraged the strike?"

"Yes." John sighed.

"John!"

Margaret cared about Nicholas because he was Bessie's father and he had been kind to her, but she knew he was a rabble-rouser, willing to stir-up mischief at the least provocation. John had called him a firebrand, and Margaret supposed that was accurate.

"Bessie needs the money for the doctor visits and Nicholas will support Mary," he said, sadly. "I expect Mary will become a housemaid at Marlborough Mills someday."

"Why? Why are you doing this for the Higgins family? The men have done nothing but hurt you."

He raised his brows. "Do you not know?" he asked

She shook her head, confused.

"For _you_ , Margaret. As much as you care for Bessie, I felt I must help her family care for her, and then after she has gone, I will continue to aid them as I may."

 _For her!_ Dear Lord he did love her. Love her enough to help her friends, even though they had wronged him.

"You are too good," she said. She reached forward and took his hand.

He kissed it. "I love you," he whispered. "I will never let you down again as I have."

"I believe you, John." She continued to hold his hand. "We must move ahead, and embrace the good we have shared in the past and build upon that for our future."

"You are willing to forge ahead by my side?" He looked relieved.

"I love you with all my heart, how could I let you go, knowing you want me?"

John considered reaching for the pouch he had buried in his other pocket. Was it too soon to propose? Was that not the reason he had come to London; to make Margaret his fiancée? He knew there would be a better time, when they were alone and he could express his feelings, whether she said yes or no to his proposal.

"Thank you, Margaret. For loving me despite my stupidity and mistakes."

"Let us talk about something else shall we? We _must_ move ahead John. I wish to think of the wonderful things that have happened in our past, the beautiful things we have shared, not the painful ugliness."

"Aye." He nodded. "We have had far more good than bad, have we not?"

"Indeed!" She squeezed his hand again, then grew pensive. "I must tell you about Mr. Bell. You have not spoken with him this week?"

"No, I have not," he replied. She had asked him several times over the course of the past two days about his recent interactions with the man. Perhaps now he would find out why she was pressing the issue.

"He visited Aunt Shaw's home yesterday. He stopped to see if they- Aunt Shaw and Edith- had anything to send to me." She grinned, that beautiful smile that melted his heart. "He didn't know I was in London, you see."

"Because you belong in Milton." He smiled at her. "With your father… and me."

"Yes." She rubbed his arm before grabbing another hunk of cheese. "Yes, I do."

She munched on her cheese and then took another sip of wine. He was content to sit and watch her eat all day. He had not known what to expect when he came from Milton. He had thought she would reject him outright, send him packing back home. Luckily for him, she had been willing to hear him out, to try to understand his thinking and choices, however flawed they were.

"Mr. Bell is gravely ill, John," she said with sadness in her voice. "I asked if you had heard from him because I thought perhaps he had sent you a letter alerting you to his declining health. I imagine he will try to find you while he is in Milton. I did not know you were coming, you see, or he could have stayed in London to see you."

"He wishes to be in Milton to tell your father in person, no doubt."

"Yes." She nodded. "They have been very close since Papa was at University. Papa was in one of the very first classes Mr. Bell taught, and he quickly became a mentor to my father."

"Yes, I believe one or both of them told me that. What a gift that must have been for both of them. Nothing could be better than having a friend for a lifetime."

"I agree! I do not think Mama liked Mr. Bell very much, though." She chuckled. "I recently learned that she would come to London to visit Aunt when he was scheduled to come to Helstone for a visit. I had no idea that she avoided him like that. I thought she just came to visit."

" _You_ like Mr. Bell." It was more of a statement than a question. As fondly as she spoke of Mr. Bell, John was certain she did, despite her mother's opinion of the man.

"Oh yes! He has been so very good to me… to all of us. His humor took some time and maturity for me to truly understand, but yes, he is one of my very favorite people." She sighed. "He says he is dying, John." She looked down at their joined hands.

"Dying?" How horrible. "Is he quite certain?"

She nodded, and looked back up at him, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I am sorry, Margaret." What more could he say?

She sniffed. "He is going to Spain, to be with Fred."

"Is that where he is? Spain."

He could tell she was considering what to say. Would she finally tell him more about her brother?

"Cadiz," she answered. "Mr. Bell will enjoy his time there."

"Why there?" he asked her.

"The climate is better," she explained. "The doctor said Mr. Bell may improve in a warmer climate with fresh air and he thought he just as well go somewhere that he knew someone. Fred will care for him."

John chuckled. "I would think everyone would be healthier in such an area."

"True, true."

He thought of Milton, the town's cloudy, thick and sooty skies. How did that affect his health? He wondered briefly how Mr. Bell's passing might affect the lease agreement on the mill. How it might impact Mr. Hale's employment at the boy's school? Now was not the time to think of himself, however. Margaret was sad, perhaps even scared for her godfather. It was his duty to console her and support her. John could not consider himself… at least not today.

"Tell me your favorite memory of Mr. Bell."

John thought if she could speak of the good memories, and not dwell on the sadness, she would lose her melancholy and still enjoy the remainder of their picnic. He was likewise anxious to hear more about the elusive Mr. Bell. For years upon years, John had seen his as a controlling, oftentimes intimidating man. John fully understood what Margaret meant about growing to understand Mr. Bell's humor. It was an acquired taste, which had taken decades for John to really figure out. The man was shrewd and crafty, so while John wanted to take his comments at face value, he was always a bit wary.

"Walking and talking," she finally answered, a wistful look in her eyes. "No matter where we were- in London, or Helstone or even in Milton, we would walk. He would ask me deep questions such as _how can birds fly_ , or _why don't people keep monkeys in their house_." She laughed. "Sometimes I would simply listen and he would tell me about his childhood, what he was doing at whichever age I was at that time. I suppose I knew about Milton before I even came north. His stories were always entertaining."

"When Mr. Bell and I engaged on a social, personal level, I agree. As a landlord, he has always been fair, and supportive. As a mentor, while I was at his school he challenged me daily." He laughed at his naiveté. "I never quite understood his sarcasm. I would often leave his office downtrodden, feeling I had failed in his eyes." He leaned his head against the trunk of the tree. "When, in retrospect, he was congratulating me on my successes." He shook his head. "If I had known then what I know of life now."

"I feel that way quite often."

"Tell me," he urged.

"What I wish I knew earlier?"

He nodded.

"Oh, mostly I wish I had appreciated my free days in Helstone and my relationship with Mother. She loved my brother so dearly, I fear there wasn't much room for me in her heart."

"I find that hard to believe," he said.

"It's true," she insisted. "Dixon was also very close to my mother. As I got older, and spent more time in London, when I came home it seemed I was a stranger, or a mere acquaintance rather than her daughter." She shrugged. "I will tell you this, and it makes me sound so horrible, but when Mama died… well, it was so strange really. I knew I should feel sadness, but I did not. I respected my mother, but we were so distant to each other. Aunt Shaw has truly been my mother since I was ten, and even she is a bit distant to me."

"But you know they cared for you."

"In their own way, I suppose?" She shrugged. " _I_ do not wish to love _my_ children in such a way." She rested her dainty hand on her chest, over her heart, as if making a pledge.

"And how do you plan to love your children?" A grin played at his lips as he asked, curious what she would say.

"They, along with my husband, shall be the center of my world."

The way she looked at him, with her whole heart in her eyes made his own heart throb in his chest. She had provided yet another opportunity for him to propose. He had the same issues now as they had, moments earlier. They had privacy, but not nearly enough. This was not how he envisioned proposing.

"Surely you will need some outside interests?"

"Perhaps," she said quietly. "I am hopeful my husband will enjoy leisure pursuits with me. Such as picnicking and walking out and reading together."

He leaned closer to her. "And what might you and your husband read together?"

She leaned in with a saucy grin tipping up the full edges of her lips. "Perhaps _Plato_?"

"Ah, now that would be quite interesting to… _your husband_ , I suppose. Your father said you have already read much of Plato?"

"I have. But I have never debated his philosophies."

"Ah-ha! So you will not only read with your husband, but also debate? That could get rather lively."

She grinned devilishly. "That is my hope, John Thornton. We… that is, my _husband_ I am cannot agree all the time, you see. But it is my dearest hope that such debates will only draw us closer. My _husband_ and I, that is."

Even to his inexperienced-with-women mind, he could easily discern what she was saying. His mouth spread into the largest smile he had ever made and he sat back against the tree, filled with relief! She would have him!

"I am certain, your _husband_ , will well enjoy engaging you in some battles of the wits."

"And how about picnicking and walking out?"

"On days such as today, your husband would be quite foolish to not take you on a picnic, even in dirty, sooty Milton."

"What if it was say… a Tuesday afternoon… Do you think my husband would be able to leave his employment and spend time with me… and in time _our_ children?"

"Again, he would be quite foolish and idiotic to allow opportunities to strengthen and unite his family pass him by. Work is work, my family will be my life."

"And if my husband's mother and I do not agree on issues?"

He blew out a breath. She was really drawing it all out for him. He knew this was something she'd been concerned with. His mother would prefer him to choose a Milton girl, someone who understood Northern ways. But Margaret was who he wanted, regardless of her knowledge about _Milton Ways_. He knew Margaret would settle, once they developed a routine for their life and together they would find happiness. His mother may never fully accept her, but John believed once she knew Margaret better, they would rub along with each other just fine.

"In truth it would be better for the man to stay out of the middle and allow the two women he loves to work it out. To take sides would only worsen matters, and for him to find a solution would only anger both ladies."

"That sounds rather… cowardly."

"Cowardly! No! Not at all. Think of it Margaret. You wish to offer ham for supper and Mother instead demands a leg of lamb. You would wish for me to side with you for the ham? Then you would expect me to settle all your differences, which is impossible. What if I sided with my mother on the lamb? She would be satisfied for the day, but you would make me sleep in the servant's quarters for days. Can you see my predicament? I cannot succeed in either situation."

She laughed. "Your face looks as perplexed as I am feeling." She laughed again and handed him one of her delicious lemon biscuits. "I suppose I was considering arguments of larger importance, such as changing wallpapers and furniture for example. Hiring a new maid or cook."

He bit into the biscuit, delighted with the tanginess of lemon flavor. "Promise you will make these for me?"

"Every day if you wish."

"Perhaps different flavors sometimes? I do love lemon, though." He took another bite and finished the treat.

"Whatever you would like."

He swiped his mouth with a napkin and drank the last of the wine from his glass before finishing his train of thought.

"My mother has always run the house. She takes great pride in managing the mill house. It has given her purpose and enjoyment. She has helped me with mill matters, especially with matters when my female works are involved." He sighed. "I've been told I can be rather… intimidating."

She clucked her tongue with a chuckle. "Who would ever say that?" She rolled her eyes, still laughing.

"Am I?"

"Yes! To women especially, I imagine. You are tall and fierce, rather stiff and oh, so controlled."

"Do I intimidate you?"

She laughed. "At first, _yes_ you certainly did! I was intrigued by your comportment and aloof manner. I wanted desperately to see you smile." She reached forward and caressed his cheek with her fingertips. "After our first delicious kiss I knew you were softer inside, if I could just get to that part of you."

"And you have," he told her. He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "You have become part of my very soul, Margaret. I do not believe I could go on without you."

She flushed a delicate shade of pink. "You mustn't say such things in public." She looked away from him, pointedly tipping her head toward a couple not ten feet away.

He laughed. "I forget myself when we are together."

"I like it," she said. "I always want you to be yourself when you are with me. There is no need to put on airs or behave as _the master_ when with me."

"That is why I so enjoy being with you. You allow me to be who I truly am, not who others expect me to be. I do not have to play a role with you, act like someone I am not."

"You do that otherwise?"

He nodded. "At the mill or in front of the other mill masters I cannot show weakness, for the workers will jump upon it. I must show strength when dealing with my mother, or she will berate me. I knew if I came to see you, instead of writing you a note, you would have seen my weakness, my indecision, my failure, and I could not have that."

How feeing it was to open his heart to her.

"Surely you must know I will accept you and support you no matter what happens?"

He nodded, humbled by her unfailing attachment.

Silence dragged between them. He was a bit overcome up by her words, too choked up to voice his reaction to her commitment

"Are you finished eating?" she asked. "I would love to go feed the ducks."

"Feed the ducks?" He narrowed his brows. "Why would you do that?"

She laughed. "Why? Well, it's fun!"

She stood quickly, hardly struggling with the voluminous skirts of her borrowed dress. She reached forward and took his hands in hers, trying to pull him up. "Come along, Mr. Thornton."

Once he was standing, she reached down and grabbed some leftover bread from their luncheon. She handed him two pieces and strolled away toward the canal, not bothering to wait for him to join her. She had a certain swagger when she walked, and even in the dress that was a bit too wide in the hips, she was still graceful and feminine.

As he joined her, he reflected back to the conversation he'd had with his mother in May, prior to his departure for London, the visit when he and Margaret first met. Never in his dreams did he expect to find such a fine a woman who would love him, and here she stood, only inches away, crumbling bread and tossing it to the ducks who now crowded around her dainty feet.

"Have you never fed ducks, John?" Margaret asked over her shoulder.

"I have not." His tone sounded rather self-righteous, he thought.

"Frivolous waste of time, eh?" she chided. Turning to face him, she smiled. "I think you must learn how to play, just a bit, so you are prepared for those children who will become your life." She winked at him then, and slowly moved along the canal's edge.

He watched her go, with a flock of quacking ducks trailing behind. It was just bread, but to the feathered beasts, it must seem like the best treat ever. He followed a distance behind, tossing his own breadcrumbs on the ground and pausing in pleasure to watch the birds shove the bread in their beaks as quickly as they could.

He smiled at the foolishness of it. A man of five and thirty feeding ducks in the heart of London! What would the other mill men say? Margaret was correct, though, as he was coming to learn was the rule not the exception. Feeding the ducks _was_ rather fun. He felt young and silly and yes, even frivolous.

After feeding the ducks her remaining bread, Margaret returned to the picnic blanket and began packing up the remnants of their luncheon. She gave John the last lemon biscuit even though she very much wanted it for herself, and tossed the rest of the bread from the hamper to the ducks who had followed them up the knoll.

"Will they follow us to Mrs. Shaw's home?" he asked.

She looked up from her efforts to find his eyes laughing down at her.

"I certainly hope not! Aunt would be vexed. The kitten at least has employment. I'm not certain what the ducks might do in her back garden… other than destroy it."

Once she had replaced the picnic items inside the hamper, she closed the flaps and John bent over to retrieve it. She stood, leaning upon his arm for support and then folded the blanket over her arm. He pulled her close to his side, threading her hand through his free arm, the hamper swinging in his opposite hand.

"How far are we from Harley Street?" he asked.

"Oh it's just over there." She pointed to the right as they walked through the main gates where the carriage had dropped them earlier.

"Margaret, is this not your aunt's carriage?"

She followed the direction his finger pointed, toward a carriage that pulled up as they began the walk to Harley Street. It looked like Aunt Shaw's but most carriages of this day were similar in detail and design.

Aunt Shaw's driver popped down off the seat, and quickly propped open the door for them.

"Did Aunt not need the carriage after all?" Margaret asked him, accepting the man's hand to crawl inside.

"Plans changed, Miss Margaret." The man tipped his hat to John and stepped aside, thus allowing John to board behind her.

John handed up the hamper for her to grab, and climbed inside, sitting across from her.

"Thank you for coming for us," she said.

The driver tipped his hat and closed the door before climbing back on top and quickly leading the horses away.

"I was rather looking forward to spending more time alone with you," John told her. "What shall we do this evening?"

She had not thought that far ahead, had been intent on enjoying every moment with him. She had no idea what plays were available that evening, and there had been no invitations to balls or parties. What, indeed, should they do?

She leaned over and grabbed the beautiful rose he had gifted her earlier off the bench. The scent was still strong, and as she sniffed it she smiled.

"What would you like to do?" she asked him.

"I better not say," he answered.

"Why?"

"Because you might—justifiably—slap me." He wagged his bushy brows, causing a giggle to escape from her lips.

"Oh my," she sighed. "You are incorrigible." She shook her head. "I imagine Henry Lennox will visit. He tends to spend Saturday evenings with the captain and Edith."

"There are other rooms in the Shaw home?" he suggested.

"Indeed there are, however, it would be rude not to engage with my family. I will not be here very much longer, so allow me to enjoy Edith before she becomes a mother and is fully engulfed in caring for a child."

"She will have a nurse?" he asked.

"Oh, absolutely." Margaret laughed. "She will be the type of mother to rock and coo but as soon as the child fusses, the nurse will be called in for immediate assistance."

"You however, will care for our children as you do for Kenneth at the foundling home. The concern for him—a stranger- I saw in your eyes touched me deeply."

Had he even noticed what he said? He had said _our_ children rather than _her_ children. The possibility of becoming Mrs. Thornton was moving closer to a reality.

"I do care for him and the twirler more than I can even say. They were so open to love, so willing to accept me." She swallowed, feeling slightly teary. How she had missed them the past week! "I anticipate with such excitement each of my visits to the home."

"I was pleased you met Mrs. Willwright there. I hope we will associate more with that couple."

"I do, also. I hope that we develop a long friendship with them. As you behave with me, normal, without airs, is how I feel I may behave with her. She likes me when I am silly, twirling and dancing with little Lily or speaking of other more serious matters. She likes me just as I am, just as you accept me for who I am."

"Accept you?" he snorted. "I _love_ you… precisely the way you are. The way you look in the morning light, the way you look in candlelight. I love you when you tease me to make me smile and when you challenge me to improve the lives of my workers. I love your honesty and your pureness of heart. Margaret I love you for all you are and how you have changed me… how having you in my life will make me a better man."

They pulled to a stop in front of Aunt's Shaw's home. It was time to dig in her heels and challenge him. She was through dancing around the subject of marriage. If he had plans to propose to her, as Mr. Bell said, then John should get on with it.

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"About what?" His face was blank, she realized he really did not understand what she was asking of him.

She huffed. "Marriage, John."

Suddenly the door popped open, with Edith on the other side.

"Come!" Edith squealed, reaching in for Margaret's hand. "You both must get ready!"

It was not yet even four in the afternoon.

"For what?" Margaret sputtered as Edith virtually dragged her out of the carriage.

"Mama decided to have a dinner party this evening!" Edith said eagerly. She loved parties. "She has invited Lord Templeton and his Lady, and the Middletons!"

"On such short notice?"

Once John was following, Margaret looked back to retrieve the hamper and blanket, but the efficient driver had already seen to it. She _did_ grab the rose John had gifted her before rushing to do Edith's bidding.

"Mother met the ladies for tea and realized none of them were engaged for the evening." Edith looked at John. "They will arrive within the hour! We must make haste."

Margaret glanced over her shoulder, mouthing the word _"sorry."_

"Let us make haste, Miss Hale." He winked and leaned forward with a whisper. "We would not wish the Lord and Lady to be left waiting."

She shook her head at his cheekiness and grabbed his hand to pull him in the front door. Normally, Edith was quite a nag, but pregnant, she was liable to burst into tears at any moment and at the smallest provocation. Margaret did not to witness such a crisis, so she hurried John along.


	38. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Ouchie!"

John pulled back the edge of the _London Times_ and quirked a brow in question toward the beautiful woman sitting on the chair to his right. She was sucking on her pointer finger, frowning.

"Miss Hale," he said, "is it not correct that the needle is to go through the fabric, not your finger?"

Edith chuckled from across the room.

"Oh, very funny John Thornton." With a huff Margaret set her sewing aside.

"Yes, Margaret, it would hardly do for you to bleed all over baby Lennox's birth sampler," Edith chirped.

The two couples were enjoying a quiet Sunday afternoon in the sitting room at Harley Street. Captain Lennox had fallen asleep on the settee soon after lunch, while Edith paged through a book of wallpaper samples for their child's nursery.

Margaret had been industriously stitching on her sampler, while he perused the headlines of the day. How satisfying it was to get London news so fresh. Often it would take days for a London paper to arrive in Milton, and by then it was old news in the south. How equally satisfying it was to spend the day as relaxed as they were. Sundays were his only free days, and knowing that Margaret was content to sew while he read the paper was a comfort.

"Are you in a good spot to take a short break, Margaret?" John asked her. He glanced out the window. "The sun has just poked from the clouds and I would enjoy stretching my legs."

With a sigh, she answered, "Yes, I think I must step away for a moment or two. I have stared at the fabric so long it is making my eyes cross." She chuckled and stood. Holding out her hand to him, she said, "Will you escort me on a walk, Mr. Thornton?"

"I should be quite happy to." He quickly folded his paper and stood. Taking her outstretched hand he kissed it. "Mrs. Lennox would you care to join us?" Captain Lennox was snoring and in no condition to go for a walk.

"No." She shook her blonde head. "Instead, I believe I shall follow my husband's fine example and retire to our room for a short nap." Edith eased herself from the chair. "Margaret you must tell me who you see and what they are wearing! Especially the coats." She focused on John. "I always enjoy the winter coats. The furs and wools are so lovely."

"I promise I shall, Edith," Margaret told her, an indulgent smile on her lips. "Enjoy your sleep."

As if on cue, Edith yawned loudly before leaving the room.

Margaret turned her attention back to him. "Where would you like to go?"

His borrowed valet had made a suggestion that morning while helping John dress. "Is Hyde Park not the most fashionable part of London to be seen on a Sunday?"

She smiled. "Absolutely. From two o'clock to four o'clock is the height of attendance, so we shall be right on time. I shall go ask Aunt Shaw for use of the carriage."

Aware of the snoring Captain Lennox in the background, John restrained himself from kissing her before she left him. Instead he followed her into the hallway to await her return. The butler quickly appeared, handing him his gloves and hat which had been stowed somewhere for safe keeping.

The butler brushed invisible thread from John's overcoat before helping him shrug into it. "It's a fine day for a stroll, Mr. Thornton."

He smiled at the older man. "It is indeed."

Margaret rushed back into the hallway where he was waiting. "It is all arranged. The carriage will be brought around at once."

The butler handed John her cloak, which he placed about Margaret's shoulders. Her hat, she handled on her own, and once properly garbed with gloves, they walked out the front door, facing Harley Street.

"We probably should have woken Captain Lennox," Margaret told him.

"He appeared a bit _indisposed_ during services this morning," John said.

She chuckled. "He imbibed far too much liquor last night." She looked up at him. "I was quite proud of you, though."

"Oh?" he asked.

"Yes." She turned to watch the carriage turn the corner. "I am always so very impressed when I have the occasion to hear you speak with men about business. There is so much knowledge inside of you. Each time I listen to you, I learn more about the mills, about the business of Milton." She shrugged. "About life."

"Oh!" He chuckled. "Here I thought you were pleased I did not drink much alcohol."

"Well, there was that, too," she said. She tipped her head up and gave him a pert look. "I already know you are not one to overdo anything. You are never excessive in anything you do."

It was good she could not read his mind, for if she could, she would realize he thought of _her_ quite excessively. Although, in truth, Margaret would likely not be offended by his frequent thoughts of her. He believed she might, in fact, be flattered by the amount of time and energy he spent thinking about her.

"In my experience there is little need to seek anything in excess." He grinned and leaned forward, his nose, just inches from hers. "Except, perhaps, kisses from my lady?"

She briefly rested her hand on his chest. "Silly, silly man!"

"I love you, Miss Hale," he whispered.

"And I love you, Mr. Thornton."

They stepped apart as the carriage pulled up. Taking her small hand in his, he helped her step up inside, and then followed behind, seating himself across from her. The driver closed the door once they were settled and pulled away, toward Hyde Park.

"It's time to leave London," she said quietly. Her eyes were fixated on the landscape passing outside the window, not on him.

"You will come home with me?" he asked.

She turned then toward him with a smile. "I will. Ten days here is sufficient for my visit."

He wanted to push her, to ask when they could leave. He needed to get back to the mill, of course, but his priority was to bring her home… to be with him.

She surprised him by asking, "Will you be ready to go tomorrow?"

"Yes," he answered quickly.

He could be ready yet that afternoon if she would leave, but he would not suggest it. He would give her one more evening with her beloved aunt and cousin. Truly, he would give Margaret the world, if only she asked for it.

"We could leave on the early train. It leaves just before eight." She shifted on the seat. "I expect you will wish to get back to the mill as soon as you may. The early train will give you a few hours in the evening at the mill."

He wanted to be back at the mill, yes, but he did not want to be away from her. Being with her exclusively the past few days had been like a glorious vacation. Giving up the life of a leisure he'd enjoyed would be more difficult than he expected. His life was so regulated, it was odd how easily he had slipped into the life of fine London _gentleman._

"I hope in time London and Milton will be a quicker journey. With all the improvements in machinery and technology I can hope things will move faster." She chuckled. "I am glad to live in a time with rail transport. I cannot fathom having to rely solely upon horses for transport."

He grew serious. "I often ponder what the future will bring. You know my interest in machinery."

"I do," she admitted.

"I sometimes play with ideas in my head. Since our trips to the Great Exhibition, I have found myself sketching different components for machinery, thinking of ways to speed production and transport. I stand and watch the shuttles and looms sometimes, contemplating ways to improve production or make it cheaper."

She smiled gently at him. "Do you ever turn off your mind and simply relax?"

"Sometimes." He sighed. "Sometimes I simply cannot. Yesterday and today I find myself quite at ease. In fact, I have not really thought of the mill at all, whilst I've been here, in London, with you."

"Good. I hope that will continue to be the case. I hope… I hope you will be able to separate the time we are together alone, and the time you must spend at the mill. I will be pleased for you to learn to be relaxed in my presence."

He wanted to laugh, but held it in. He was often quite uncomfortable with her. Proper behavior required him to act one way, while his deepest wishes were the opposite. It was not her fault, of course, that she was beautiful and graceful and feminine. Her allure was like an addiction to him, but one he never wanted to quit.

"Margaret, I will do my very best to leave behind the challenges of the mill when I am with you." He almost said, _come home to you_ , but caught himself.

How long would he have to wait to ask for her hand? He needed to do so before leaving London, which left very little time to accomplish the feat. Perhaps he would have a chance tonight, before retiring for the night?

"Here we are!" she said. "This is called the Hyde Park Corner."

The driver pulled to a halt and they climbed out. She wound her hand through his arm and together they walked forward, following the dozens of other couples through a large archway.

"Mr. Decimus Burton designed the arch. Isn't it lovely?" She glanced up at him and once he nodded, she continued. "The _Ladies of England_ raised funds for the statue of the Duke of Wellington." She pointed at the huge statue at the head of the gates into Hyde Park.

"What is it made of?" he asked.

"I understand it was made from old canons! Can you believe it? They came from battles Wellington won. I know one was the battle of Vitoria. I remember that one only because it was the similar to the name of Her Royal Highness."

He looked up at the impressive display. "The statue is well deserved. He won many important battles in his fight against Napoleon's treachery. Not that either of us were alive at the time, but I imagine our world would be much different had Wellington not succeeded against the French."

He turned back to look at her as she twisted her lips in such a way that a dimple appeared on her cheek. "I don't believe I would like being ruled by the French. I do not even like to _speak_ French. Actually, I am not very good with any language other than English. Edith speaks beautiful French and Italian." She shrugged. "I never had the patience to practice conjugation or practicing grammar."

"But you can read Latin and Greek?" He led her through the archway, down the well-kept foot path.

She laughed. "I can only because Papa insisted on that from a very young age. You would think if I could pick up those two I could speak any other!"

"My French is marginal," he admitted. "I understand enough to do business with my suppliers in Le Harve, although many speak English as well as we do."

They walked on quietly for a bit before they met a couple Margaret knew. He could not miss the pride and pleasure in her face as she introduced him to her friends. How satisfying it was to know she wanted him, despite his career and coarse, impoverished background.

As they moved away, he tipped his head up just a notch higher. Pride was something that had taken time for him to recover after his father's death, and now maybe, just maybe, he was back to where he would have been had his father not lost all of their savings and killed himself. He'd thought of that, on and off over the years, wondered where he would be, how he might be employed had his banker father continued to prosper rather than dying a coward's death.

"Would you like to rent a boat?" she asked him, interrupting his darkening thoughts. "Float around for a while?"

He hated boats, fell out of one when he was young, on a rare fishing trip with his father.

"Not particularly, but if you wish to…"

"No." She shook her head. "It was just something different, an activity you might never have done."

"We can if you would like." He wanted so badly to please her.

"No, no. I am quite content meandering down this path with you." She cuddled closer.

"What is the name of this lake?"

"The Serpentine. Edith and I would come to ice skate on it in the winter when it was frozen. People would sing and carry lanterns at night." She squeezed his arm. "It's quite romantic."

"Would you believe we have an iced pond in Milton?"

"Where?" she asked, a look of surprise on her face.

"It's a side pond, near one of the canals. It only freezes once every three years or so, and not for long, but Fanny has always enjoyed going there. I must admit I rather enjoyed it as well, as long as I was able to stay off my rear end."

She laughed. "I always went home with a few bruises, but it was worth it." She stopped walking and looked around. "Hmm. Shall I show you the waterfall? It's a bit down that side path."

"I will follow wherever you lead." As long as he was with her that day, he was agreeable to anything.

"That might get you into trouble." She giggled. "We must turn here to the right." She tipped her head slightly.

And just as they moved down the path to the east, someone called out Margaret's name. Stopping, they both turned toward the man's voice.

"Miss Hale! How fine it is to see you on this lovely day! Oh, and Mr. Thornton. A pleasure to see you again, sir."

"Lord Horsfall!" Margaret reached out both her hands to the older man. "How good it is to see you again."

Taking her hands, he leaned forward and kissed both of her cheeks. "It is _still_ Miss Hale, is it not?" He wiggled his thick brows toward John. "Your lovely Aunt would have told me otherwise."

Margaret flushed and nodded without comment.

"What brings you to London, Thornton?"

John paused a moment before answering. He looked at Margaret, hoping she might help fill in the story, but when she did not, he proceeded with the explanation.

"Miss Hale wanted to visit her family." That was sort of true, but not entirely accurate. It was enough to satisfy Horsfall for the moment.

"I heard about the ruckus up in the north with the strikes. Will the workers never understand if they withhold their labor the whole city will fail?"

Even a Londoner could understand his struggles!

"It's very difficult to explain the business to the men. I believe now there are certain leaders in place, within the union, who will work with the mill masters rather than against us. I was able to give the hands a raise, and I'm hopeful that will be sufficient to pacify them for some time."

"Good. Good." Lord Horsfall nodded his gray head, his tall black hat shifting slightly. "I still plan to come north and visit your mill. Perhaps in the spring when it warms up a bit, eh?"

"You will always be a welcomed guest, sir." John would welcome him, with hopes he would share his struggles with fellow members of parliament.

"Fine. Fine." He took Margaret's hand and kissed it. "Enjoy your walk, dear girl, and please tell Mrs. Shaw hello from me."

Margaret's smile lit up her face. "I shall indeed. I am very pleased to have seen you again, Lord Horsfall."

"Good day, Thornton." Horsfall tipped his hat and whistling, he turned back to the main path which led to the archway where they had just left.

"He's been a family friend for as long as I can remember," Margaret said. "I'm glad that you know him."

He was glad to know the people who were involved in Margaret's life, wanted to be a critical part of every aspect of her life. Milton was such a great distance from London, so he had to divine a way to allow Margaret to remain close to those she held dear here. Fortunately, her father was in the north, but now with Mr. Bell leaving the country… well, she and her father would both need John even more.

"Are you memorizing the clothing so you might share the details with your cousin later?" he teased.

"Yes," she said on a sigh. "I fear my descriptions will hardly do them justice. So many colors! How different it is from Milton."

There were plenty of fine dressed people to look at and dissect. He knew next to nothing about fashion beyond providing high quality cotton for dresses. He prided himself on how plainly he dressed. At the mill there was no need for any fancy fripperies, and black suited his purposes quite well. He wore clothing from the best manufacturers, of fine materials, but nothing extravagant which would cause him to stand out. How opposite he was to the fine people of London, the aristocracy that surrounded him today.

"Are you saying Milton people dress boring?"

"Yes," she chirped, and then chuckled. "We all dress for the roles we play, do we not? Your black signifies power and seriousness, just as your position as mill master might require. The ladies here dress to be noticed, so they might be discussed by others in drawing rooms, as I shall with Edith this evening."

"And how do you dress?" he asked.

She was wearing his favorite dress that day. It was a cotton gown, of course, with blue and white stripes dyed into the garment. It fit her perfectly, and accentuated her narrow waist and curvaceous features he found particularly attractive.

"I prefer to dress for comfort. Do not misunderstand, John, I like pretty dresses and shoes, but only when the occasion calls for it. Today, for example, Edith would have spent quite some time preparing to be seen here at the park. But you and I came for exercise, and as I never feel the need to stand out and be noticed, or really even wish to be accepted by London _Society_ I am quite pleased to be comfortable as I walk on your arm."

"Comfort looks very beautiful on you," he said quietly. "In fact, Miss Hale, you look quite perfect today."

She snorted. "Hardly. I believe you have seen me looking _much_ better."

He stopped walking. "When you smile at me, no matter what you are wearing, or where we are, I believe you are the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Oh, John you make me blush. But knowing this, I shall smile a lot." And so she did. "I had no idea it made such an impact on you."

That was good news. If she had any idea how deeply she affected him, she would likely be shocked. In time, she would see his true reaction to her proximity, but for now, he tamped down his desire and thought of cotton. It seemed cotton was the only thing that distracted him from her.

The closer they came to the waterfall, the more people they found milling about. He was hoping this could be the place where he found a bit of privacy to discuss the possibility of marriage with Margaret, but it did not look too promising.

"Come, let's move on. There's another area a bit ahead, over the bridge, that I like just as well." He didn't move right away, so she had to pull on his arm. "Come on!"

On the other side of the dam and waterfall was a beautiful section of gardens. In the summer he imagined the colors would be fantastic, although now, in late October, they had dimmed, dried and faded away.

She continued walking and led them onto a stone bridge, crossing the lake. "When we step off the bridge we will be in Kensington Gardens. The bridge is the formal division between Hyde and Kensington."

"I didn't expect we would be walking quite so much."

"Are you having trouble keeping up with me?" she teased.

"Indeed!" He snorted. "My legs are likely twice as long as yours."

"But you are thirteen years older than I am, which makes you slower, rather like a tortoise."

"Ha ha! I would challenge you to a footrace sometime, Miss Hale."

"You name the place and time and I shall be there. For now, shall we sit on that bench?" She pointed off to the side. "This is my favorite flower bed in all of Kensington Gardens. During the summer the colors are vibrant; pinks, reds, yellows. I seem to see little creatures in the area each time I come here, no matter the season."

"Like fairies?" he asked. He intentionally looked at her wide-eyed, as a child might when discussing such fantastical beings.

She rolled her eyes at him. "No, silly man. Little mice, voles and squirrels. Occasionally a toad. All sorts of birds perch here and often I find a woman all dressed in red that throws bread to the pigeons, or whatever birds are near."

"So, no fairies?"

"John!"

Thankfully, they retired to an iron bench secluded within the flower beds and shrubberies. In all honesty, he needed to rest his feet, but he would not admit that to her. He'd brought along only his dress shoes, which were much less comfortable than his daily work shoes. For a moment, he considered kicking them off.

"What a beautiful day," she said. "I am so pleased to be spending it with you." She took his hand and squeezed it.

He leaned over and quickly kissed the side of her forehead, mindful of any strange, peeping eyes in the vicinity.

She turned her body slightly away from him, in such a position where they were facing one another. His hand remained firmly within her grasp and as if she were uncertain, or nervous all of a sudden, she stared at her lap, instead of at him.

"I learned something new about the queen this week," she started, almost hesitantly it seemed. "I thought I knew so much, but one of the maids, well, Becky, told me something she had heard from a maid who once worked at the palace."

"With all the people that passed it along, I'm certain it must be true."

She looked up at him and he allowed a smile to slowly crawl across his lips.

"Hush," she chastised. "Now do you wish to hear what I have learned?"

"If you would like to tell me, I will listen."

Margaret took a deep breath and looked off in the distance. She _was_ nervous about something, unusual for her.

"As I understand it," she began, "Her Royal Highness decided it was her task to propose marriage to Prince Albert."

"Is that right?"

It seemed she was thinking along the same path as he was today. Was she suggesting it was time for him to propose? In truth, it was long past time for him to ask for her hand.

"Yes," she said. "He accepted obviously. I began to think maybe it was not such an odd scheme."

"A woman asking a man to marry her?"

"Yes. Precisely." She nodded quickly.

"Hmm. I'm not so certain I agree with that. I could envision hordes of women prowling the countryside for husbands."

"I'm not certain it would be any different than a man seeking a woman! Men need wives just as wives need husbands. Women are forced to consider the same reasons for marriage as a man would be. For example, I would think most men consider wealth and ability to care for a wife and family as the way to determine readiness to wed?"

"Indeed." He leaned forward, with his elbows resting on his knees. "Many men use that at the only indication that it is time to wed."

"Yes! As any logical woman would. But when money is not a concern, a man must consider other things, correct?"

He laughed to himself. She was prying, but trying to be sneaky about it.

"There is far more to consider in marriage beyond financial concerns."

"I fully agree. What do you believe should also be considered before an engagement?" she asked.

He wanted to tease her, to come up with silly reasons other men might use, like physical attributes, but instead, he grew quite serious. This was the opening he had been hoping for, for many weeks.

"Compatibility to each other and suitability within society are very important. If a man was a very active sort, but the woman he was considering preferred to lounge at home, that could certainly be difficult. If the woman was cold as a fish and the man was passionate and gregarious, their marriage might not turn out very well. Shared interests would bring a couple together, whereas opposing viewpoints might well pull them apart."

"And marriage is forever, despite the divorces I hear about from time to time."

"Indeed. No man marries with the expectation of divorce. In fact, I imagine he marries someone to prevent such an occurrence. Even with loosening of laws for such things, divorce is still quite a stigma."

"It is rather obvious Queen Victoria and Prince Albert are very much in love. I think that is a vital ingredient in a happy marriage. Attraction to one's partner is also important, don't you think?"

He smirked. "And just how can you tell they are in love?"

"They have so many children! They much enjoy each other." Her face turned rosy red.

He shrugged. "It could simply be lust, not love."

He knew he was making her uncomfortable, but these were things they should discuss. They had kissed one another, held one another enough to be permitted to discuss such things.

"I prefer to think they love each other," she whispered.

"And are attracted to each other," he suggested.

"Precisely." She nodded quickly, and her eyes returned to their joined hands. After clearing her throat, she continued, "Having considered all the things we just spoke of, I have decided to follow our great monarch's example." She exhaled deeply and looked up at him, love shining in her beautiful eyes.

"Have you?" he whispered.

"Yes, John." Her swallow was audible. "I would like to ask if you would do me the great honor of becoming my husband."

He shouldn't be as surprised as he was. After all, they had just spent the last ten minutes discussing marriage, what she thought made a fine marriage, and how Victoria had taken the bull by the horns and proposed to Albert, so marriage was clearly on her mind. It had been on his mind for quite some time as well, yet he had never expected this scene to unfold quite as it had.

He must not have answered her quickly enough. Her face fell, and she stood quickly. Choosing to distance herself from him, she walked to a nearby tree and once on the opposite side, leaned against it. He sighed, frustrated with himself for not answering immediately. Of course he would marry her!

He rose from the bench, took off his hat and gloves and tossed them back on the bench. He pulled out the ring he'd been carrying in his coat pocket for nearly ten days, straightened the sleeves of his overcoat and headed to the tree where his heart-broken love stood.

Margaret had not known what to expect exactly from the proposal, but she did think he would say yes. He came to London to ask her forgiveness, had spent the last three days in her company, even though his mill was in desperate need of his leadership. She took some deep breaths desperately hoping the tears would stay away. It would not due for him to see her cry, to know how much his rejection had hurt.

But where would that leave them?

"Margaret!"

She jumped at his angry voice and took another deep, gulping breath and turned toward his voice.

"That was rather rude," he charged.

" _I_ was rude?"

"You left before I could respond. After you ask a question of such… enormity, is it not proper to await the answer?"

"It seemed there was no answer forthcoming, therefore, to maintain my wits I stepped away."

"No answer, hmm?" He stepped directly in front of her and dropped to his right knee. He then pulled the glove from her left hand and placed a beautiful ring just over the fingernail on her shaking finger. "Here is my answer to you, my most dearest, darling Margaret. It would be my greatest honor to be your husband. So, now on bended knee, I beg of you, my only and forever love, will you be my wife?"

She nodded quickly, tears now freely rolling down her cheeks. He pushed the small ring fully on her finger and then stood to pull her tightly into his arms.

"Wonderful girl, how could you think I would not accept your offer?"

"I did not know!" She buried her face in his shoulder. "I could not understand why you had not yet proposed to me when it was so obvious that we loved one another and were meant to be together."

"It was the first thing you mentioned before. A man needs to know he is in a financial positon to marry. With the state of the mills and recent strike I could not know for certain I could support you and our children."

 _Our children_ , how wonderful that sounded to her ears!

She pulled away and smiled up at him, grateful for the soft kiss he planted on her waiting lips. "I love you, John Thornton, and I intend to prove that to you every day for the rest of our lives."

"I will welcome your love, and will return your kindness, hopefully ten-fold."


End file.
